In Plain Sight
by OyHumbug
Summary: Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber, former acquaintances, meet up again under very tense, very unique extenuating circumstances. Things are going to get messy. AH
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Yep, this is a new story. For those days when I don't have flash fic to write and Will to Leave has already been updated, I'll have this story to focus on. We're slightly changing history here, folks, so be patient, and, eventually, I'll explain how Jason and Elizabeth got to their present situation. Other than that, there's not much else I have to tell you other then, as always, enjoy!_

Charlynn**  
**

**In Plain Sight**

**Part One**

**I.**

It was odd, looking back at your life when you were still relatively young, picking it apart moment by moment, dissecting it, examining it in an effort to find every remote second of joy and pleasure, knowing that, at any second, your life will no longer be your own. Reflections such as these weren't supposed to occur until a person's life had reached the point of no return, when their existence was disintegrating before their very eyes. They were supposed to have their loved ones surrounding them - children, grandchild, perhaps even great-grandchildren; they weren't supposed to be alone in a dank, cramped office that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and the discarded remains of a partially eaten hamburger, heavy on the onions, at the ripe old age of twenty-two. But, nevertheless, that's exactly where Elizabeth Webber was in that moment.

A recent art graduate from Port Charles University, she was supposed to be out searching for that first dream job post college, the job that would promise her only great things but end up being more of a headache than a blessing, and the sad thing was that she was actually going to miss not being able to get humiliated by her first sexist, prick of a boss, she was going to mourn the loss of the overwhelming debt most recent graduates must face, and, hell, she was even going to miss straddling that brink of insanity most adults her age attempted to hide from. And it was all because, in a matter of moments, Elizabeth Webber, waitress extraordinaire, wannabe artist, friend to everyone, family to no one, was about to be no more.

"We're going to be sending you to a little town called Dovetree."

"Sounds quaint," the brunette remarked sarcastically, never once meeting the gaze of the older man across from her.

But Agent Adam Houston didn't seem to care. In his early thirties, the dark haired, dark eyed man was nothing if not professional, but, to Elizabeth, he also came off as cold, unfeeling, and definitely unsympathetic to her case. It was almost as if he felt losing one's identity and exchanging it for another was a common practice, something that shouldn't make her even bat an eye. Everything to him was business as ususal. He did what he had to, said what needed to be said, and no extra energy or kindness was expelled to anyone. A shark of an FBI agent, he had risen quickly from the ranks of lowly recruit and was now partnered with one of the senior members of the government agency. Elizabeth hated him; Agent Adam Houston didn't even notice.

"It's a place small enough that it's barely a blip on a map but large enough that you'll be able to blend in and become an accepted member of the community rather quickly. We've already scooped the area out, found you a place to live, a job; all you have to do is adapt to your new lifestyle and forget everything and everyone you once knew as Elizabeth Imogene Webber."

Of course, he would insist upon using her middle name. "And this town, this Dovetree," she asked, closing her now permanently dimmed, always saddened sapphire eyes, "will there be anyone there who will be able to talk to me about the differences between Baroque and Minimalist art, Impressionism vs. Romanticism?"

"Could anybody," the man whom the twenty-two year old estimated to be in his early thirties returned flippantly if not slightly cruelly. "And, besides," he added, "it doesn't matter, because, from the moment you leave this office until the moment you testify at the trial, you won't know the differences between various artistic moments either."

"And just how long is that going to be?"

"Well," Agent William 'Bill' Maloney stated, scratching the side of his stubbled, paunchy face, "that'll be hard to tell. T'all depends upon how quickly we can organize all the evidence you and our other key witness have given us, take it to a judge, and get them to issue an arrest warrant. After that, it'll be in the hands of the judiciary system, and I think we both know how slow the courts move these days."

Without emotion, without response, Jason Morgan simply stared back at the older man across from him. Bill Maloney was nothing what he would have expected from an FBI agent. The man was perhaps even wider than he was tall, jovial, always pleasant, and seemed to treat every person he came across as someone he could mentor. Approximately in his mid-fifties, the balding redhead had kind hazel eyes and a smile and joke ready at his disposal at all times. It was slightly disconcerting to the former enforcer. Never before had he ever met someone so... happy. But he knew he was lucky; he knew that it could have been much worse. The agent handling his case could have been a real prick, someone who treated him like shit simply because, at one time, they had been on previous sides of the law, but Bill had either forgotten that Jason had once been an employee of the mob, or he didn't care. Whatever the reason, the older man treated him with respect and kindness, and, after the last year he had barely managed to survive, it was a welcome change.

"Anyway," the agent announced, standing up from his desk only to waddle slowly towards the filing cabinet that filled the far corner of his office. "Let me tell you all about your new identity."

As Jason waited for him to retake his seat, he was struck by an image of a merry fat man in a red suit who, supposedly, flew around the world on a sleigh pulled by reindeer, delivering presents to children on Christmas. He had read about the story in one of the insipid books Carly had bought Michael when he was a baby. While he had always preferred to read non-fiction, educational, and what he considered worthwhile books to the baby, his girlfriend at the time had practically lived in a fairytale herself, insisting their child be told about all the various tall tales and fables most children enjoyed. But the memory disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, thankfully being pushed back into the recesses of the now retired hitman's mind as Bill collapsed into his leather chair, the tired, abused fabric creaking in protest at the agent's heavy form.

"From this point on," the chubby redhead announced, "you'll be known as Jack Martin. While completely unrelated to your previous name, it'll still be close enough to what you're used to that it should be easy for you to remember." Glancing up from the paperwork, the older man asked, "is that alright with you?"

"It's fine."

"Good, good then," Bill smiled genially, returning to the information before him. "We've already secured you a house, a car, and a job, completed the necessary paperwork for you. You'll move in tonight, you'll start work on Monday, and, hopefully, within a few weeks, you'll be an accepted member of the town of Dovetree, population roughly estimated at 542. Any questions?"

He wanted to roll his eyes at the name of the town. If the agents could have picked a less appropriate place for him to live, he would have been shocked, but he withheld from making the telling gesture of annoyance, instead inquiring, "what exactly am I going to be doing?"

"Let's see here," the FBI employee said, lowering his gaze, once again, to the folder before him. "It says that you'll be working in construction. Have you ever done that kind work before?"

"No, never."

"Well, I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly," the older man reassured him with a grin. "You're a smart man, physically capable. You'll be fine."

"Yeah," Jason agreed rather unenthusiastically. After all, he wasn't worried about the work being too difficult; instead, he was concerned about it being too easy, leaving him bored and restless after just the first week. "So, if that's it," he remarked out loud, lifting himself from the chair, "I should probably be going."

"Actually," Bill detained him, making the former enforcer freeze midway suspended in the air. "There's just one more thing I need to discuss with you." He said nothing, just sat back down and waited for the agent to continue. "It's about your new identity, your cover. We sort of had to... Well, you see it's like this... You're married."

So far, she had tried to be a good sport. She had calmly accepted the fact that the four years of studying, of hard work, of pulling all nighters to finish a new painting would be simply tossed out the window, her degree in art disregarded and suddenly null and void because Ellis, unlike Elizabeth, had never been to college. She had stoically listened as the agent before her explained that she would be working part time in a flower shop, designing, making, and selling floral arrangements despite the fact that the only plant she had ever been given she accidentally caught on fire. And she had patiently heeded the advice of the older man as he told her she should suddenly become interested in gardening, in refinishing and restoring old antique furniture, in all things winter and athletic even though she had never once worn a pair of ice skates, could barely stand up in snow with her shoes on let alone a pair of skis, and knew more about hot wiring a car than she did snowboarding. But when Agent Houston informed her that she would be _Mrs._ Ellis Martin instead of just _Miss._, that had been the last straw.

"Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter," the thirty-something year old questioned rhetorically, finally lifting his cold, dark eyes from the page before him. "I said that you are married. What is so complicated about this that you don't understand?"

"How can I be married when I don't know anybody in Dovebush?"

"It's Dovetree, Miss Webber," Adam corrected her despite the fact they both knew she was being snide and sarcastic, purposely misnaming the small town. "And you're not going to be married to a local; you'll be moving there with your husband."

"So, an agent's going with me to make sure that I'm safe," she suggested in a form of an inquiry. "Aw, that's sweet, Houston. I didn't think you cared."

"About you, not really," he remarked, smiling at her for the first time that morning. "About this case, absolutely, so that's why we're sending your fellow co-witness with you. Not only will he be able to keep you safe, but it'll be easier for us to keep our eyes on the two of you if you're in the same town."

Elizabeth couldn't believe it. Not only was the agency stripping her of every single shred of her former identity, but they were also foisting her into a relationship with a veritable stranger, putting her in a situation where she not only had to live with someone that she didn't know and certainly didn't trust, but they were also going to make her pretend that she was married to the man. Marriage meant affection, genuine concern and attraction towards another person, intimacy. The closest thing to intimacy she knew of with another person of the male gender was her near obsession with Count Chocula, and she had a sneaking suspicion that their relationship didn't count.

"This has to be some kind of joke."

"Do I look like I'm trying to be funny," the older man asked her, narrowing his unfeeling gaze into a pointed stare. "In fact, as soon as we're finished with this meeting, I'm going to walk you out into the hallway, you're going to meet your new _husband_, and the two of you are going to drive to your new _home_."

Instead of replying, she simply glowered at the agent across from her. Folding her delicate, graceful arms over her tank top covered chest, the twenty-two year old attempted to appear aloof, disinterested, and untouchable. No matter what, she wouldn't let some opportunist FBI agent shake her; she wouldn't let him see her cry.

"There's just one more thing we have to discuss," Adam Houston informed her.

Demandingly, she asked, "and that would be..."

"How important it is for you to never, under any circumstances, reveal anything about your previous identity or life to anyone."

"I don't think I have to tell you how dangerous Mr. Corinthos still is," Bill stated. "Until he's in police custody, locked away in a federal prison, you're going to be permanently at risk. We'll try to protect your involvement in this investigation and case for as long as possible, but, once it goes to court, once his attorney receives copies of all our evidence, he'll know that you turned, and he'll be gunning for you. If he would happen to succeed in taking you and our other witness out, the case against him would be dismissed, and he'd be free to continue his reign of terror until another case could be built against him, and the whole process would start anew."

"I'm well aware of all the risks I took when I agreed to do this," Jason calmly replied, his voice completely monotone and flat. Although he didn't regret his decision to roll on his former boss, business partner, and friend, it certainly wasn't something he was proud of either.

"I figured as much," the agent agreed. "And that's part of the reason why I wanted you to be with this other witness. She's a complete innocent in all this, got caught up with the wrong guy for all the right reasons, and, now, she has nobody. She's trying to start completely over, too, and I wanted you with her so that she has a fighting chance to survive. Keep her safe, Morgan," he beseeched the younger man. "Keep her safe, make sure she's as happy as the circumstances allow, and, above all else, watch her back."

"I will."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," Agent Maloney announced, wiggling his way free of his chair so he could stand up. Extending his palm out, he shook Jason's hand warmly before pushing his way around his behemoth of a desk to lead the two of them out of his rather crammed and dirtied office. "Now, what do you say we go and meet the Mrs," he teased, slapping Jason affectionately on the back.

The former enforcer didn't respond.

**II.**

Bill Maloney stood back, leaned heavily against the wall behind him, and readied himself for the fireworks display that was about to erupt in one of the many corridors of the FBI building he worked out of. Under normal circumstances, a forced _marriage_between two strangers would automatically become a tense situation, but throwing together two people who already knew each other and didn't like one another, well, that was practically a powder keg set too close to the fire. There was only one inevitable reaction to Jason and Elizabeth coming face to face with each other and realizing they were joining the witness protection program together... as a married couple, and he was going to make damn sure he had a front row seat for the show.

They didn't disappoint.

Jason was standing beside him, hands shoved into his jeans pockets, permanent scowl marring his otherwise handsome features, as they waited for the second agent on the case, Bill's partner, Adam Houston, to finish meeting with the young woman. Although the ruddy haired agent didn't much care for his partner on a personal basis, he had to admit that the junior officer knew his stuff. He was a good man to have at your back, and, despite his personality flaws, he was a good man to have on the Corinthos case, too. He was impartial, treated each suspect like the next, and didn't fawn over yet still managed to take care of those who came to them with evidence in exchange for protection. However, the younger man wasn't much for conversation, subtlety, or even kindness, so Bill had a feeling Miss Webber was going to be even more unprepared for the revelation of her_husband_ than Jason was for his _wife_.

The adjacent office door opened, the petite brunette exited as quickly as her small feet could carry her without actually sprinting, never once glancing back at or acknowledging her agent's presence, and that left the thirty-something shark lounged in the doorway, a tired smirk lightening his otherwise foreboding features. Oh yeah, Bill realized silently to himself, those two had really hit off; Adam had made_quite_the impression upon the young woman. But then she glanced up at the two people standing before her, and all of his thoughts fluttered away.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Absolutely not," Jason exploded, pointing distracted towards Elizabeth while drilling the redhead beside him with a gaze brimming full of hatred and abhorrence. "I'm not going to be stuck with her for months on end, pretending to be her husband."

The twenty-two year old scoffed. "Like I would want you to be. Look, guys," she beseeched both of the agents, "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." While no one dared to contradict her, all three men in the room shared a knowing, disbelieving glance with each other. "Let Morgan go play in traffic for all I care. I'm not going to be his wife, not even his pretend one. If this is the best thing you two stooges can come up with, then maybe this whole idea was a bad one. I'll just retract my statement, take back all the evidence I provided you with, and go back to my old life, thank you very much."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Miss Webber," Agent Houston told her patronizingly. "This isn't the playground. You can't uncross your fingers and change your mind; this is the FBI."

The former artist mumbled something under her breath, but Bill had a hard time picking up on what she was exactly saying. He did, however, catch the word blowhard and knew that he was better off left in the dark. Realizing the events at hand were quickly spiraling out of control, going from entertaining to downright dangerous, he decided it was time for him to step in.

"Like it or not, this is the way it's going to have to be. And it's not like you'll have to spend that much time together," he lied. In an attempt to convince the two seething witnesses before him, he continued. "You'll both have jobs, you'll both have separate interests that'll keep you busy, and, when you're alone in the house, you don't have to even see each other. Just make sure you make enough public appearances, civil ones, to convince the town that you're a happily married, young couple. That's all that we ask."

"And how many appearances would be enough?"

The balding FBI employee turned towards the onetime hitman and sighed. "That's pretty hard to judge, Jason. You're good at reading people, though, aren't you? So, read them. If you think they're doubting the sincerity of your relationship with Elizabeth... or, shall I say, Ellis, take her out for dinner one night, hold her hand, smile at her a time or two. I promise, it won't cause your face to break apart. And you," he turned to regard the recent college graduate, "use your woman's intuition. My wife goes on about it enough that it should be able to do something beneficial. If your female friends start questioning your relationship with Jack," he nodded towards the towering blonde beside him, "then share a mushy story about how the two of you met or take your husband lunch one afternoon, putting on a good show for his coworkers. This isn't rocket science, folks; it's a cover story. If you want to survive, you'll make it a good one."

He sensed that the two of them were still unhappy about their circumstances but that they were done complaining about them. Though both Elizabeth and Jason had their flaws, he also knew from talking and working with both of them extensively that they were fundamentally good people, and, if he said so himself, they made a damn fine looking duo, fake or not. But his decision to put them together as a married couple had nothing to do with a ridiculous urge to play matchmaker and solely to do with keeping the pretty, young brunette alive. Morgan could take care of himself. He always had, and, Bill suspected, he always would, but Miss Webber was a different matter.

She had no self-defense skills, she had never once held a weapon, be it knife or gun, and, even if she had, she had no idea how to use one. She was naive and trusting; she always tried to see the good in everyone, even when there was none there to be found. That was part of the reason why she got so messed up with the Corinthos in the first place, and maybe it was sentimental of him, maybe he was taking his job a little too far and making it personal, but he wanted to see her live through the next year or so, survive the trial, and get a chance to live a real, honest, and good life. The budding artist deserved nothing less, and, if he had to make her and the former enforcer both slightly uncomfortable for the next several months to accomplish that, then so be it. One way or another, Elizabeth Webber was going to out live every single one of them in that hallway if he anything to say about it.

Attempting to alleviate the dark cloud of dread that had settled around them, Agent Maloney joked, "and, hey, look at it this way: the two of you already sound like an old, bickering, married couple. Reminds me of me and my own wife. You've practically got the routine down, and we haven't even left the agency yet."

No one, not even Adam, found him amusing.

"Alright, well, let's be on our way," he gestured for the three younger individuals to precede him down the hall as they made their way outside. "It's going to take you all afternoon to reach your destination. There are directions in the glove compartment, and, when you get to the house, there should be a moving truck there waiting with everything we've purchased for the place. Plus, of course, your clothes and a few personal affects will be packed in the truck as well. If you have any questions or concerns, you both have mine and Agent Houston's numbers. Call us anytime."

"Between nine and five," his younger partner added.

Ignoring him, Bill stressed, "any time, day or night." Although he didn't argue again, the thirty-something year old ladder climber beside him glared at the redhead. "I'll be in touch," he promised them. As one last, parting word, he added, "drive safe," before the_newlyweds_ disappeared out of sight and climbed into the waiting SUV the bureau had provided them with. As long as neither Morgan nor Webber ended up killing each other, he had a good feeling about the investigation he was in charge of - a really good feeling.

**III.**

Betsy Northam had been living in the same house, on the same street, in the same town for nearly seventy-five years. There was no one in Dovetree that she didn't know, and nothing occurred around her that she didn't take notice of. She had never married, and she had no siblings, no family of her own, so she kept herself entertained, alive, and kicking by insinuating herself into other people's lives. Was she a busybody, perhaps, but, given her age, anything was excusable.

She had been intrigued by the old Park residence for the past week. It was located three houses down from her own on the opposite side of the paved street, and, from her kitchen window, with binoculars, of course, she could see everything that went on at the craftsman style bungalow. From her post, she had watched a man in a nondescript suit come and meet with a real estate agent, she had seen them shake hands, effectively finalizing the deal for the house, and she had witnessed the remodeling that had taken place over the last few days. Windows had been replaced, new doors had been put in, and a security system had been installed. What was so wrong with the previous windows and doors, she had no idea, and, as far as some new finagled alarm went, well, she saw no purpose for it in Dovetree. The changes to the old Park place made her believe her new neighbors were city folks, and she didn't much care for city folks.

They were loud, in her opinion, rude, and they generally did not fit in well with their small town atmosphere. Dovetree worked as well as it did because the citizens respected and liked each other. There were town picnics in the park, softball Saturdays, and festivals honoring every season. If you resided within the town limits, you were expected to participate in every town event, but city folks, as Betsy Northam had noticed over the years, didn't much care for their rural entertainment, and, in exchange, she didn't much care for them either.

Nevertheless, though, new neighbors meant new gossip, and new gossip meant there would be something to entertain her friends and fellow nature enthusiasts in her garden club. She and the women met every other Sunday afternoon, the host varying. They would have tea and cake, they would discuss the latest trends in garden design, and, most importantly, they would whisper and confide in one another about the various goings on, illicit or not, that occurred in their small town. It was the very thing that Betsy looked forward to the most, and, now, thanks to her new neighbors, at the next meeting, she was going to be the one with the best information.

She was just about to sit down and watch her requisite hour of TV that night when she heard a vehicle pull into a driveway. Knowing that all her other neighbors had been home for quite some time already that evening, she got up from her easy chair and made her way into the kitchen, picking up her trusty binoculars on the way past the island. There, just three doors down and outside her window, sat a bright and shiny, brand new SUV. She hated the gas guzzlers, thought they were an eye sore and an environmental outrage, so she knew her new neighbors, the city folks, must have arrived.

"Well, all be," she exclaimed, glued to the show that was being played out live before her.

They were young kids, too, probably hooligans. The man was tall and, from what she could tell in the dusky shadows, good looking with dirty, messy blonde hair. Although she couldn't see his eyes, she figured they had to be blue; the color was the only one fitting the rest of his appearance. He ran around the vehicle, opening the door for a young woman, and, from the way he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to their front door, she supposed the pretty brunette was his wife. Even she had to admit that they made a fine looking couple, no matter if they belonged in Dovetree or not.

A moving truck arrived just minutes after the young couple did, but neither of them seemed to pay it much attention. The men set to work, unloading their furniture, and the man and woman stood aside, watching the progression. They seemed quiet, as if they had nothing really to say to one another, and Betsy wondered if perhaps, instead of a good match for one another, they were merely physically infatuated and in lust. It wouldn't be the first time she had seen such a relationship, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

Minutes changed to almost an hour, and, when the movers were finally finished, their truck backing up as unobtrusively as it had arrived, the young couple, once again turned to each other. The man smirked, at least that's what it looked like from her binoculars, before bending over slightly to pick up his petite wife, holding her in his arms and carrying her over the threshold of their new house. While the old spinster had never been married herself, she had to admit that it was a romantic if not gaudy tradition, and, once the front door was closed, hiding her new neighbors from her visage, she went back to her chair and sat in thought. There was a story behind the young residents of the old Park place, and she was determined to figure out just exactly what that story was.

**IV.**

As soon as Jason kicked the door shut behind them, Elizabeth struggled in his arms, telling him without words that she wanted put down. He did so without delay or objection. As they made their way through the house, they worked together, silently, to close all the blinds, hiding themselves from the outside world. When they were finished, their new home a disaster zone filled with boxes of belongings, new purchases for their new life, and furniture, some of which still needed to be assembled, they went their separate ways - Jason towards the dining room where a pooltable, per his request, had been installed, and Elizabeth upstairs to the master bedroom where there was a bed that the movers had put together for her as she had asked them to. It would be a bed she would occupy alone.

It was their own little _home sweet home, _and it felt like they were trapped in a suburban hell. Apparently, the honeymoon phase for Jack and Ellis Martin was already over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

**V.**

In all the various ways Jason Morgan had prepared himself for his death over the years – a gunshot wound, a bombing, a knifing, even by poison, never once had the idea crossed his mind that he would eventually perish from boredom, but, a month into his forced stint in the witness protection program, and that was exactly what he was fearing. 

His life was nothing but a mundane routine. He got up in the morning, showered, got dressed, and then made himself a pot of strong, scalding coffee before leaving for work. Work consisted of the same menial tasks over and over again. Hammer this beam into place. Patch this roof. Hang this sheet of drywall. The tasks were rote and unchallenging, and, during the day, they were only broken up by coffee breaks with the other guys and lunch, and he wasn't much for downtime, and he sure as hell didn't enjoy small talk. After work, he returned home to a place that was far less welcoming than any hotel he had ever stayed at or any room above some dive bar he had inhabited. The evenings were passed quietly in isolation. Sometimes he would read; other times he would play a solo game of pool, but there was no deviation from the norm, and, quite rapidly, it was making him feel trapped, even slightly suffocated. 

While most men had the small pleasures to enjoy while living the simple life, he didn't. His _wife_didn't greet him at the door every evening when he returned home from a long day at work with a smile and a welcome home kiss. There were no lazy Saturday mornings spent in bed, savoring the fact that, technically, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was a newlywed. Hell, Elizabeth wouldn't even speak to him, let alone spend any time with him. And it wasn't as if he expected her to actually treat him as her husband. In fact, of all the men in the world, he'd probably be one of the last ones she would ever be able to feel that affectionate towards, but, nevertheless, at that point, a shared meal where they could talk about their day and maybe even laugh a little together would be greatly appreciated. He'd probably even take a fight with her if it would break up the monotony of his life, but he knew better than to expect anything from his _blushing bride _of one month. 

Letting himself into the house, Jason sighed. Another day had passed, and, still, Elizabeth had not yet attempted to unpack any of her things. While he had quickly gone through the task of unboxing his own possessions, she, apparently, was in no hurry to do the same. Each morning, she would dig through the various containers until she found some clean clothes… or at least that's what he assumed she did. After all, he really had no way of telling, because she wouldn't talk to him or even allow him to be in the same room as she was, and he knew well enough that she had not yet attempted to do laundry, because it was nearly impossible to find one's way through the over-stuffed and obscenely crowded laundry room. 

It was as if she was still in denial about their current lifestyle, as if she thought leaving everything packed would make it less real, but he knew better. He knew that the longer she fought their situation, the harder it would be for her to live with it, and that if she just made half an effort to adjust to her new life, she might find that it wasn't so bad. Even though he himself wasn't a social person, he knew that Elizabeth enjoyed going out to lunch with her friends and going shopping, and there was nothing stopping her from doing those same things in Dovetree. The town was filled with unique and interesting people, people who would embrace her and make her a part of their lives, but she was stubborn and unwilling to try, and he knew better than to suggest anything to her. If an idea came from him, she'd 

be more than likely to turn it down just on the principle of disliking him alone, no matter the merit of the idea. 

So, resigned to being miserable, resigned to being bored, he weaved his way through the still full boxes lining their entryway, and the kitchen, and even the small hallway that led to the living room and approached the twenty-two year old woman he was supposed to be spending his life with. She appeared to be awaiting his arrival, perched on the edge of the couch while starring into nothing. Unconsciously, his gaze swept over her. While the former enforcer told himself it was habit, that he was just making sure she was physically safe, at the same time, he wondered if there was something more to his actions, but he immediately dismissed them. 

She was dressed appropriately for the summer heat. Wearing a light sundress over her bathing suit and filp-flops on her feet, she looked relaxed and cool, but he knew better. Whenever she was in his presence, she was always nervous, constantly fidgeting with her hands and biting her bottom lip, and her evident apprehension towards him always made Jason feel resentful. After all, he had never set out to hurt her intentionally and, after their first initial meeting, never gave her reason to believe that he ever would, but, still, she cowered away from him, always refusing to meet his eye unless she was angry and in an antagonistic mood.

Refusing to exist in the shroud of silence that had been hanging over them for the past four weeks, he greeted her. "Hey."

But, as always, she wouldn't return the gesture. Standing up, Elizabeth went to leave, tossing a canvas tote over her shoulder, a tote, he assumed, was filled with the various essentials a woman took with her when she went swimming. Although they didn't have a pool, Dovetree was located on a small lake, making it a natural destination for seasonal tourists and providing its citizens with easy beach access. "I'm going out," she informed him brusquely, leaving the room while she talked. Instead of taking the path he had just used, though, she, instead, meandered her way around the pool table filled dining room and out the sun porch as if the very idea of even stepping where he had once been appalled her. 

And that was it. She never invited him to join her, she never offered him an explanation as to where she was going or when she returned, and she didn't even say goodbye. But Jason wasn't surprised. In fact, those three words were more than he had gotten from the brunette in the past two days combined, but, still, he wanted more. She was the only other person he knew who could understand what he was currently going through and vice versa, and, although they had never been friends in the past and he didn't expect them to be in the present, it would have been nice to have someone that he could really talk to, could really be honest with. Everyone else he had to lie to. It wasn't by choice but by necessity, but he had always hated lying, found it hard to do, and, even after years of being entrenched in the mob, he felt no differently. 

Besides, if he was so unhappy with their current living situation, he couldn't even begin to imagine how miserable Elizabeth was. She was an innocent and by no means should have been messed up in his world or the witness protection program. Despite the fact that he could barely tolerate her company, he could easily admit that he regretted the fact that, somehow, she had gotten dragged into the high stakes game of chance he was involved in at the moment. But it didn't matter how sorry he was or how much sympathy he felt for her, the recent college graduate was determined to shut him out, and he had no idea how to change her mind. So, pissed off at himself, at Elizabeth, and at their situation, he 

stomped to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge door, and pulled out a bottle of beer. If he couldn't do anything productive, then he might as well try to forget by getting drunk. 

**VI.**

One hour, four beers, and a whole hell of a lot of balls sunk into the various six pockets of his pool table, and Jason Morgan was feeling much better. The fact that he had to get up the next morning, bright and early, to restart and relive basically the same exact day he had just finished was far from his mind. Suddenly, it didn't matter as much that his only real source of companionship wanted nothing to do with him, that life as he knew it no longer existed, and that he was hiding out from instead of facing his enemies head on. In fact, the only thing that mattered to him at the moment was that he still had several cold beers with his name on them in the fridge. At that point, there wasn't much else he could ask for. 

But, then, there was a knock on the door, and he knew it wasn't Elizabeth forgetting her key. Instead, it would be their first official visitors. Not only was he on his way to getting drunk, but, to make matters worse, his _wife_was nowhere to be found. Talk about making a great first impression with the neighbors. But there were lights on in the house, the windows were open to let in the night breeze, and their SUV was parked in the driveway. There was no way he could act as if no one was there, and it was far too early for anyone to be in bed. So, with no other option at hand, he dropped his pool stick onto the green felt of the table and made his way towards the entrance off the kitchen, the one that led to the driveway. 

Beer bottle in hand, he pushed the screen door open only to be confronted by the very last two people he had been expecting. It wasn't some desperate mother looking for a cup of milk to finish her evening meal for her family, and it wasn't some lost traveler needing directions. Instead, it was the two agents assigned to his and Elizabeth's cases, and, seeing them there before him made the retired hitman grit his teeth in frustration. Although dressed in plain clothes, their guns and badges nowhere to be seen, Jason knew their visit wasn't one of pleasure; it was business, and chances were they were arriving with bad news. 

Taking a long sip of his rapidly cooling drink, he swallowed and then squinted out against the falling sun, never once meeting either man's eyes. Finally, he demanded to know, "what do you want?"

Houston was the first to speak. Always to the point and never one to spare words when they weren't needed, he coldly inquired, "are you going to let us in, or are you going to give your neighbors even more to gossip about?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Long time, no see, Jack," Agent Maloney greeted the discourteous blonde, stepping forward to shake his hand and pat his back in a friendly, manly way. Although his behavior seemed warm enough, Jason knew it was nothing but a show put on for those who might be watching them. Their meeting was to appear as if two acquaintances from the past had just been randomly driving through town, so they stopped to see their old friend. "So, how's Dovetree treating you and the Mrs.? She's here, too, isn't she? I've missed her pretty little face."

"No, she's not," he answered bluntly. "She went swimming."

"Aw, now, that's a damn shame," Bill continued, frowning slightly. Winking towards Jason and elbowing his partner, he teased, "but I bet I know why you didn't go along with her. There's no skinny-dipping allowed, is there?"

Taking another drink from his bottle, the former enforcer simply shook his head no. Realizing that they wouldn't be able to stay there for the duration of their conversation, though, he pushed the screen door open wider and gestured for the two men to come inside. Dutifully, they followed. 

Once inside, though, all pretenses disappeared. "Nice housekeeping skills, Morgan," Adam mocked, kicking aside several boxes as the three of them made their way into the kitchen. 

He simply ignored him. Opening the fridge, he pulled out fresh bottles of beer, popping the tops off all of them before handing both agents their own drink. Silently, they all took a long pull before sitting down, slumping into separate chairs around the plain, wooden kitchen table. 

"What's going on," Jason asked, meeting both Maloney and Houston's accusing gazes. "Why are you here, jeopardizing our cover?"

"Well, you see it's like this," the older of the two FBI men started only to be interrupted by his partner.

"You think we're jeopardizing your cover," the thirty-something year old agent demanded, rolling his eyes. "Trust me, you and Webber are doing a damn fine job of that all on your own."

"What do you mean," the once mafia entrenched blonde demanded. "We've done everything you've told us to do – we moved to this hole in the wall town, we're posing as a married couple, and we're…"

"Yeah," Adam interjected, "a married couple who's on the brink of divorce, a married couple who is never seen together out and about, a married couple who's about as attentive to each other as a pair of dead fish. You're the ones who are going to get yourselves caught; we're just here in a last ditch effort to save your sorry asses."

"Look, Agent Houston, while sometimes harsh, has a point," Bill sighed, leaning back in his chair to share a meaningful look with the one-time hitman. "We don't expect the two of you to have public sex in your backyard," he admitted, blushing slightly at the reference, "but you're going to have to step it up a little. Like you pointed out, this is a small town, and people around here talk. The word out there about you and _Ellis_ is that you moved here in one final attempt to salvage your marriage, that you married too young and now you're regretting your decision to be together."

"They assumed all that in a month's time?"

"And more," the balding man informed him, "but I'm just giving you the cliff's notes version. Bottom line here, Morgan – you and Miss Webber need to be seen in public more. Start socializing some; make friends with your coworkers, your neighbors. These people might not be the kind of people you're used to, but they're good and honest; they're friendly. Take _your wife _out to dinner on the weekends, take trips into town together to pick up supplies, 

hell, join a club or two. We really don't care how you do it, but just make sure that you're seen out and about with Elizabeth."

"And make it believable when you are seen together," Adam added, offering the blonde a pointed look. "And to do so, you might actually have to stand close enough together to actually touch one another. Jesus, Morgan," he cursed, laughing at the younger man. "You're a guy, and Webber, though not my personal taste, is a very attractive woman. What we're asking of you isn't rocket science. Just act like you want to get her into bed, and you should be fine. I'm sure even you can manage to pretend that much."

Ignoring the blatant dig at the mental defects he suffered from since his accident, Jason stood up, pulling the bottle of beer out each of the agents' hands. "Are we finished here?"

"Not quite," Bill warned him. "There are a couple more things you could do for us. First of all, wherever _your wife _is, meet her there. Surprise her, pick her up, walk her home – whatever. Just be seen with her tonight after we leave, got it?"

The one-time enforcer sighed but the gesture was one of acceptance. "What else?"

"Clean this place up," Houston demanded. "Unpack all these damn boxes; make this place actually look lived in. You were lucky tonight that it was us at the door. How the hell were you going to explain the state of this house to someone else?"

Jason shrugged, shoving his hands into his jean's pockets. "I don't know," he hedged. "We are supposedly newlyweds, right? I could have just told them that we had better things to do together when we weren't at work."

"And that's exactly why I have faith you'll be able to make this work," the older of the two agents complimented him, slapping him on the back once again. "That was said just like a true husband obsessed with his new bride. Why I remember when my wife and I first got married…"

"Spare me the visual, Bill," his partner beseeched him. "A Philly cheese steak is not going to look very pretty on the floor of your brand new car."

"Right."

"We'll be in contact, Morgan," the dark haired FBI employee told Jason, making his way out of the house behind the fifty-something man before him, ignoring the other man's previous acceptance of his demand. "And you better make this work."

There was a veiled threat underneath the agent's parting statement, but the blonde wasn't in the mood to decipher it. He knew what was at stake; he knew that his and Elizabeth's ability to fool the rest of the world into thinking they were a happily married couple was their only means of survival at that point, and he really didn't feel like contemplating what would happen to them if they didn't pull the ruse off. So, instead of worrying, he tossed his empty beer bottle out and left the house. Head down to block the still strong rays of the setting sun, he slowly made his way down the road towards where the street would lead him to the lake, towards where the street would lead him to his _wife_, and, even though he knew she wouldn't be happy to see him, he was kind of looking forward to seeing her. After all, anything was better than the incessant loneliness he existed under or the unwelcome company of a couple of FBI agents – even the company of a woman who despised him. 

**VII.**

Déjà vu was not something Jason Morgan experienced often, and he was thankful for that fact, but, nevertheless, as he approached Elizabeth that evening, the ever advancing dusk turning the flat, shimmering lake a brilliant myriad of colors, he was struck by how similar the events of that evening were to those the night he had first met the petite brunette. Years of time separated the two occurrences, but, still, it almost felt like yesterday to the former enforcer. He could remember every single detail about the first moment he encountered Elizabeth Webber, and, because of the sheer misery of those few minutes in each other's company, he knew he would never be able to forget it. 

He wasn't blind, though; he could see the differences. Whereas before she had been timid with immaturity and fear, she was now a confident woman distracted by the uncertainty of her life. Adulthood had more than aged her physically; emotionally, there were more scars lining her already damaged heart, and she wore those scars like the proud coat of strength they were. Unlike years before, the onetime artist now had straight hair, the curls of her youth replaced with a more sedate, professional appearance. And even though time had given her a chance to forget the woes of her past, she smiled even less today than she did as an eighteen year old, and Jason worried that he was a large part of her unhappiness. 

However, as the night wore on, dusk progressing into twilight, he remained hidden behind the trees, the vantage point providing him with an opportunity to watch the woman who was supposed to be his wife while, at the same time, keeping him from being watched by her, and he forgot to look for darkness in the twenty-two year old before him; he forgot to notice the ugliness she held inside of her so tightly. Instead, he saw the beauty she possessed, not in a covetous way but simply as an impartial observer. He looked at her just as he would a view from the top of a cliff – objective and disinterested. 

More than four years later, she still refused to wear a bikini, just as she also refused to fully immerse herself into the water. Apparently, for Elizabeth Webber, swimming meant wading out to her knees or walking along the shore, and it made the onetime hitman wonder why she refused to completely let herself go, why she always insisted upon remaining in control. After all, even he, someone renowned for his constant awareness and rigid restraint, sometimes gave into the seductive nature of the water. But not Elizabeth. Up and down the beach she ambled, occasionally stopping to admire her surroundings or to lean over and pick up a particularly attractive stone or shell, but it was when she spread her arms out wide and stretched up as tall as she could on her toes, as if she wanted the wind to sweep down and lift her to the heavens, that he was transported back into the past. And, just like that, he was back there again – on the island, young, inexperienced, and grossly mistaken. 

_He had been working for Sonny Corinthos for approximately six months, and, as a reward, both for hard work and dedication and for managing to stay alive, his boss invited him down to his private island, promising the newly minted enforcer a week of sunshine and surf, leisure and, if he wanted, temporary love. It was the first time he had been able to really travel since waking up as Jason Morgan, and, though he missed the routine of his daily life back in Port Charles, he had to admit that the island was beautiful and full of places to explore. However, unlike his employer and sometimes friend, the blonde was not fully capable of shutting down, of relaxing. _

_Although he wasn't supposed to working that week, he took the responsibilities of his job very seriously, and it was his responsibility to make sure that Sonny was always safe. There were far fewer security risks on a private island, but, still, he took precautions. Always alert, always vigilant, the hitman was constantly observing his surroundings and those of his boss, _

_taking mental notes of various strategic points and areas of weakness. When he was supposed to be out swimming or yachting, he took the free time to roam the tropical paradise, memorizing every single nook and cranny of the tiny island community. By the time he went back home at the end of the week, he wanted to make sure that he knew his boss' personal oasis better than he knew the back of his own hand. _

_On that particular day – a Wednesday, he was hiking his way around the shores, going from one end of the island to another, up and down, from left to right, across and back again, north, south, east, and west. By the time he was finished that evening, there wouldn't be a sand dune he didn't recognize or a shell he couldn't locate. It was early evening by the time he ran into anything of consequence. While he knew that Sonny entertained many women while he was on the island, some of them floating around the don's private villa while others stayed at the casino, the particular woman… or girl, to be more precise, that he found standing at the edge of the ocean was someone he didn't recognize. _

_Now, Jason Morgan was a man who never forgot a face. If he saw you once, he'd recognize you again whether he met you in a dark alley or spotted you across the room at a crowded public place. It was one of the skills that made him such a good enforcer, why he had progressed so rapidly in the organization, and he valued it accordingly. So, when he spotted the young woman on the private beach, her arms spread wide as she stood on her tiptoes to embrace the salt-tinged breeze, he mentally did a recount of all the women he had met that week thus far and found himself coming up empty. _

_No one fit the brunette's description. At five foot, two inches and no more than 110 pounds, she was petite yet still curvy, her body, while still young and fresh, definitely all woman. Her hair was to her shoulders, the color of a rich, Belgian chocolate, and it curled wildly at the ends, the tropical winds tangling the tresses and whipping them around the girl's head. Her skin was pale, making Jason assume she was not a native to the Caribbean, and it glowed like alabaster as the setting sun cast its orange warmth over it. With her back to him, though, he couldn't see her facial features, not even from the profile, but, so sure he was that he had never met the woman, he treated the situation like a breach of security. _

_Soundlessly, he raced down the sand, fountains of the granules being kicked up by his feet behind him with every long, confident stride. Within seconds, he was behind the unknown brunette, and, taking her by surprise, he wrapped one corded, taunt arm around her abdomen while the other moved up so his hand could cover her mouth. Effortlessly lifting her off the ground, he held her against him, his lips settling in right above her left ear. _

"_Don't move, don't struggle, and don't you even think about attempting to get away from me."_

_And she didn't. He felt the young woman go completely still in his arms, almost as if her body was shutting down. Immediately, his awareness level jumped. No one he had ever encountered before reacted that way unless they were trained to do so. If the girl had been an innocent, she would have continued to fight against him even though he warned her not to, and that made the professional hitman just that much more wary of her being on the island. Women were few and far between in their business, but they weren't unheard of, and he was not taking any chances. _

"_I'm going to uncover your mouth so you can answer some questions for me, but, when I do, you better remain just as still as you are now. And don't even think of playing any tricks, do you understand me, because, if you even think about screaming or escaping, it'll be your last thought." _

_Waiting for a response, Jason slowly uncovered the brunette's mouth after she nodded her head several times in rapid succession. With his free limb, he wrapped it around the girl's neck, holding it against her throat tight enough to limit her air supply but still keep her alive and capable of talking, albeit very quietly. _

"_Now," he instructed her calmly, unhurriedly, as if talking to a child, "I want you to tell me who you are."_

_She coughed for several moments before being able to speak, but, when she did, her soft, feminine voice, a voice he had to admit to himself didn't sound like one coming from a hardened criminal or underworld enemy, answered, "Elizabeth." Gulping for air once, twice, and then a third time, she finally expounded, "Elizabeth Imogene Webber."_

"_Who do you work for?"_

"_Bobbie Jones," she replied as quickly as possible. _

_Although the blonde doubted her easy sincerity, the name did strike a chord with him. While he couldn't identify the supposed mob boss by face or reputation, he did recognize the identity and mentally labored to determine just who the person was, what their business was with Sonny, and why they might have wanted the mafia don killed. But he couldn't think of a single reason or even a reference to Jones, so he was forced to resort to more questions. _

"_And what does he want with Sonny; why are you here?"_

"_What," the female stranger asked, sounding confused. "Bobbie's a woman, and I'm a college student who works part time as a waitress." Pausing to suck in another fresh breath, she pressed on, "And, as for Sonny, he's my friend."_

"_Yeah, kid," Jason mocked, tightening his hold on her and making her cry out in pain, "that's what they all say."_

_But, then, out of nowhere, the very man they were discussing appeared. Running down the beach, the Hispanic man approached them at a hasty clip, waving and yelling for his enforcer's attention. It was the first time he had ever seen Sonny Corinthos exert himself, and Jason knew immediately that he had made some kind of grievous mistake._

"_Put her down," his employer screamed, rushing to Elizabeth's side to comfort her, to make sure that she was unhurt, to apologize and then send the young woman back up to the villa. By the time he turned back to the blonde across from him, Jason could see the fury radiating from his boss' cold onyx eyes._

That moment had truly been a turning point in his life and, never again, was his relationship with the don the same. Eventually, they became partners for convenience, and they were friends due to necessity, but neither man could ever really forget the first time they disagreed, and the distance it created between them only seemed to grow over time. But that wasn't the only reason, the main reason, why Jason could never forget that evening so many years before. Instead, that night haunted him because of what he had done to Elizabeth. 

She had been an innocent. Later, he learned that Sonny had brought her to the island as a means of escaping the living horror that her home had become for her. She had been brutally raped, and the mob boss had found her broken and bleeding in the park that past February. Selflessly, he had taken care of her, made sure she got the medical help she needed, and became her friend. After her grandmother passed away just a month after her attack, she was left with only three living relatives, two parents who wanted nothing to do with her and a brother who was busy completing his medical degree at Stanford. In essence, Sonny became her only source of comfort, of family, of platonic love. 

And what did Jason do? Well, he managed to sneak up behind her, violently grab her, and then threaten to kill her just five months after her rape all because of some misunderstanding. While he never saw the petite brunette again that week on the island, it was inevitable for them to run into each other back in Port Charles. She was Sonny's friend, and he was Sonny's enforcer and second in command, but each and every time they came face to face with each other, she treated him with nothing but barely concealed hatred and trepidation. Eventually, her fear dissipated, but she was never quite able to forgive him for their initial meeting, not that he begrudged her the bitterness and resentment.

For years, they coexisted like that – Elizabeth abhorring his very presence, while he felt awkward around her. As time wore on, the awkwardness bled into antipathy as well until the point where they both held the other in mutual disregard. She avoided him, and he avoided her until one day, as fate would have it, they were tossed back together due to necessity. So, there they were – living together, pretending to be married, and their very lives depended upon their ability to actually get along. 

"It was a long time ago, _Jack_," his twenty-two year old _bride_ startled him out of his thoughts, approaching him from the water's edge as she slipped her sundress back on over her damp bathing suit. "I barely think of that day anymore when I see you."

"Yeah," he challenged, "but that doesn't mean you've forgotten it either or forgiven me."

She shrugged her shoulders as if dismissing the very thought. Instead of disputing his statement, she changed the subject. "What are you doing here?"

"While you were gone, Maloney and Houston paid me a little visit."

Plastering a fake smile on her slightly tanned face, she teased, "well, that was sweet of them."

"Could we please have a serious conversation just this once,… _Ellis_," Jason pleaded with her, his shoulders stiffening with tension at the sheer tone of annoyance in her voice. "This is important."

"Alright, fine," she agreed, marching away from him towards the tree lined path that would lead them back to the main road. He simply followed behind her. "You want to talk, then talk. Tell me, what did Frick and Frack want this time?"

"They want us to start actually behaving like a married couple," he explained, sighing at the mere thought of having to actually get along with the woman in front of him. 

"Well, we're already living together. What more are we supposed to do?"

"Apparently, a lot," the once enforcer replied sarcastically. "They basically ordered us to start getting along, to go out in public, to socialize, to act like we have a successful, functioning relationship."

Elizabeth whirled around, tilting her head back in a confrontational manner so that her eyes could meet his. "I'm not a damn actress. I just can't pretend to actually like you."

"Well, you better learn how, because, the way I see it, we don't have much of a choice. So, either figure out something you admire about me that you can build upon, or imagine that I'm someone else, but, no matter what, we're going to have to start behaving like newlyweds when we're in public."

"Whatever," the brunette remarked spitefully, pivoting around just as quickly as she had before only to start walking again at a steady pace. "Did they say anything else, _sweetheart_?"

"Yeah," he grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "They said you have to get all those boxes of yours unpacked." Before she could interrupt and ask why, he continued. "They said that, in case some neighbor dropped by one day, we better make sure that the house actually looks like a home."

As they approached the main road, he caught up to her, surprising the twenty-two year old former artist by reaching out and grasping her right hand in his left. "Look," he attempted to persuade her, weaving their fingers together. Despite himself, he couldn't help but notice how soft her hands were, how comforting it felt to feel the touch of her skin against his, but, just as quickly as the thoughts occurred to him, he brushed them aside, arguing that it had just been too damn long since he had been with a woman. "Maybe we should just do it already. You know," he hedged, the tips of his ears reddening slightly. "Maybe we should just talk about everything from the past, clear the air between us once and for all. It might help matters."

Her only response was to dig her nails into the back of his hand, making the retired hitman grimace in pain. Without talking for the rest of the walk home, the ignored each other but, somehow, still managed to look like a happy couple out for an evening stroll, a doting husband holding his wife's hand as he walked her home from the beach. The sun had long since set by the time they reached the house, the home's bright, welcoming lights serving as a beacon through the darkness for the young _couple_, but, once they were inside, they separated instantly, the door being slammed behind them, and the lights turned off quickly. As she made her way towards the master bedroom, the room she inhabited alone, he collapsed onto the couch he used as a bed, groaning out loud in pent up irritation. 

But that's how it had always been – one step forward and a whole hell of a lot back. Apparently, _being married_ had changed nothing between them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

**VIII.**

She was a fitful sleeper. Though she slept deeply, her body thrashed around continuously during the night, seeking what, Elizabeth didn't know. And it wasn't because she had been raped as a young woman; memories of that night, though they could still terrify her, didn't control and paralyze her any longer. And her inability to lie still didn't stem from the fact that she was currently a much sought after member of the witness protection program. No, instead, she had always been restless, even as a child.

Her nanny growing up had always teased her about her penchant for tossing and turning, smiling indulgently at her youngest charge and claiming that Elizabeth just had too much life in her to even settle down at night. Her older brother had also found it amusing, but he had given her nightmares for a week once when she was four by telling her she must have had giant bed bugs attacking her at night for her to make such a ruckus. And then there was her sister, too. Sarah had always hated the trait about her, telling anyone who would listen that it was just another one of her younger siblings attempt to bring attention upon herself.

Yes, like Elizabeth had really wanted to roll out of bed every night for two months straight.

Eventually, though, her movements became somewhat more tamed, but she never stopped tossing and turning while asleep. For some reason, periodically throughout the night, she would wake up into a semi-conscious state, realize that either one of her arms had fallen asleep because she had been holding it at an odd angle or that she was simply bored with her current position. So, she would fluff her pillow, mumble to herself about something unintelligible, and then fall back asleep, never to remember the moments of interrupted to her REM cycle. Often, when she woke in the mornings, her bedding and pajamas would be twisted around her body in an uncomfortable way, and sometimes there were things knocked off her nightstand or evening pieces of clothing removed and thrown across the room, but it was just one of her quirks, and she accepted it. After all, what other options did she have?

On that particular morning, she was slightly more cognizant than she usually was, perhaps because she had already slept for eight hours, but, knowing that she didn't have to be at work until early afternoon and not wanting to face the day that was waiting for her or the people in it, she rolled back over, sighing contentedly to herself as her body fell just a little bit deeper into the down duvet. Except it wasn't as comfortable as she had anticipated it being, and, in fact, there was something entirely off about the whole movement.

Jack hammering up in bed, she attempted to regain her bearings. Eyes practically swollen shut with sleep, she lifted a lined and wrinkled hand to rub away the cobwebs, grimacing when the bright light of the morning sun shining through her windows pierced through her otherwise groggy state. Hair in disarray and half matted to her head, she lifted a hand to brush it away from her forehead when she found the source of her discomfort.

There was a piece of paper taped to her face.

"What the…"

"A to-do list," a rather amused voice informed her from across the room. Immediately embarrassed, not to mention startled, Elizabeth collapsed back down onto the mattress and 

pulled the blankets back up over her head. Though his voice was slightly mumbled by the weight of the duvet over her face, she could still hear _her husband _perfectly clear. "I thought I'd put it somewhere that it couldn't get lost in all the clutter."

"Why are you in my bedroom?"

Jason laughed, ignoring her question. "You're really not a morning person, are you?"

Suddenly too infuriated to remain hidden where it was much safer for her pride, she threw the covers back again, this time for the last time, and sat up to face the man taunting her. Through gritted teeth, she asked, "what to-do list?"

Taking his time to answer, the former enforcer leaned back against the open door jamb of her bedroom, sticking his free hand in his pocket while the other one leisurely lifted his coffee mug to his mouth. He took a long drink from the cup, perhaps savoring the taste of the bitter, black concoction or just delaying the moment to piss her off even more, Elizabeth wasn't sure which. "If you'd un-tape the note from your forehead and read it, you'd know what to-do list I'm talking about."

Shooting imaginary daggers in the exasperating man's direction, she ripped the piece of paper off her forehead, grimacing when it pulled slightly at her sensitive skin. "Only you would think to do something so offensive as to tape a note to a woman's face, Morgan."

"Thank you."

In that moment, she would give just about anything for the chance to wipe the crooked grin off his arrogant, self-satisfied countenance. But she knew better than to try. Jason would just simply hold her off with one hand placed strategically in front of him while she kicked and sputtered and wind milled her arms in his direction, managing only to hit the air that separated them. Focusing her attention on the piece of paper in her hand, she read over the various chores listed, her mood becoming more volatile, more antagonistic with every bullet point.

"Is this some kind of joke? I can't get all this done in one day."

He shrugged. "Just do what you can, and, what you don't get finished today, work on tomorrow."

"Oh, you like this, don't you," Elizabeth challenged him, standing up from her bed to advance on the onetime hitman, her right index finger extended before her towards him in an accusatory manner. "You get to go off to work where you pick your nose and scratch yourself around a bunch of equally Neanderthal men, only to leave the little wifey at home to," she paused momentarily, glancing back down at the note, "to iron and hang the fucking curtains."

She didn't know why she was trying to engage him in an argument, but, after a month of living in hiding and fearing for her life, the stress was starting to get at her, and there was no better stress reliever than a knockdown, drag out, dirty fight, and who better than to fight with than the man who had been the bane of her existence for more years than she'd like to admit let alone actually think about. But Jason didn't rise to her bait; he overlooked her insults and her angry words and simply stood there, drinking his coffee, as happy as a freaking lark. If he dared to start whistling, she'd forget her restraint and punch him squarely in the nose.  


At her wits end and so mad she was shaking, the blonde in front of her finally deigned it appropriate to respond. Lifting one sandy eyebrow and smirking at her, he nodded, his eyes roaming up and down her body at a furious pace. "Nice pajamas, Webber."

And that's when she remembered what she was wearing.

Instantly blushing, she turned around and ran straight towards the ensuite bathroom that connected to her bedroom, Jason's rumbling laughter chasing her the entire time. Slamming the door shut, she collapsed back against it, breathing heavily. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Hands fisted at her side, back ramrod straight, there she was in full glory starting back at herself in the mirror dressed only in a pair of candy-pink boy shorts, cut high, and a camisole so thin, so worn, it was practically see through.

"The stupid man," she fumed, stomping over to turn the shower on. Now that she was up and good and irate, there would be no going back to bed for her that morning. Standing in front of the sink, she set about brushing her teeth, mumbling and grumbling the entire time. "What the hell does he expect me to wear to bed," she rhetorically asked herself, spraying cinnamon toothpaste foam from her mouth and onto the mirror the entire time she talked. "It was seventy-five frickin' degrees last night when I went to bed, and it's not like Moron Number One and Moron Number Two thought to put air conditioning into this place for us." Spitting, she threw her toothbrush aside, so distracted with her one sided conversation she didn't notice it skid off the countertop and land between the sink and the wall. "So, excuse the hell out of me if I want to be comfortable at night! It's not like I was expecting some early morning visitor to come into my room, tape a note to my forehead, and then goad me into a confrontation." Stripping off her clothes, she let them fall to the floor in disorder, not carrying what particularly happened to them. It's not like she'd be able to wear them again without thinking of _her husband_, and, if there was one thing she did not need to think about while in bed, it was Jason Morgan, "the stupid man."

Sighing in contentment as the scalding water beat down on her nude form, she leaned against the tiled surface of the large, master shower, finally relaxing. As the steam enveloped her and the warmth of the spray washed away her worry and her resentment, her melancholy and her grief, Elizabeth finally allowed herself a moment to actually be vulnerable. After all, the shower was the one place where no one could see her, where no one would be able to read her inner thoughts and take advantage of them.

When she was alone, she could admit all the many things she regretted, including how she had been treating Jason since they had been forced to essentially share their lives together. Yes, there was past animosity between them, but, when she was truly honest with herself, she realized that he hadn't been attacking her that day on the beach so many years ago; instead, he had been attacking his idea of who she was. He had believed her to be a spy or an enemy out to harm Sonny, and, at that point in his existence, the only thing Jason Morgan had to live for was his job, so he took his duties as Sonny's enforcer quite seriously.

But, for a while after their encounter, seeing him and remembering what he had done to her down on the island, grabbing her from behind and covering her mouth, only triggered other unpleasant memories, memories of her rape, of the man who had snuck up behind her in the Port Charles park, wrapped his arms around her, and lifted her up off of that bench. Despite the fact that she knew better, Jason became inexplicably linked to her rapist, and, for years, he had set her on edge.

Eventually, though, that panic he instilled inside of her faded, only to be replaced by a 

whole different kind of agitation. Elizabeth started noticing different things about the hitman, softer things, beautiful things, and she began to resent him for the fact that he was the only man who could make her feel that way. It wasn't supposed to be him. Jason wasn't safe, neither physically or emotionally, and she wasn't supposed to feel anything but shy and uneasy around him. Instead, she felt attraction and interest, and she hated herself for giving into such weakness.

And then there was also his role in making her end up alone and afraid for her own life. Subconsciously, she knew it wasn't his fault, that it was Sonny's, that it was her own, that it was the entire world that the two of them had existed inside for so long, but, in her heart, she had a hard time separating logic from emotion, from impulse, and so she continued to blame Jason as well.

And, now, they were supposed to be married, hiding together and helping one another in order to stay alive. Fate was a cruel, perverse bitch sometimes. Day in and day out, Elizabeth was forced to live with the man who had, one way or another, haunted her for more than four years, and she didn't know how to deal with it. Breaking down into tears, she slowly lowered herself to the shower floor and cried until the water turned cold and her tears bitter.

Getting out, she slipped on her bathrobe, not caring about the fact that if she didn't comb out her hair right away, it would become a curly, unmanageable mess. If she and Jason were going to somehow find a way to coexist, to put the past behind them where it belonged, then she knew she needed to start meeting him halfway and that included apologizing for her behavior up until that point. But when she got downstairs to the kitchen, _her husband _was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was hot water in the coffee pot waiting for her if she wanted to make herself a cup of tea or some hot chocolate and another note.

"E," it was addressed, and she started reading it out loud to herself. "Maloney and Houston came up with that to-do list, not me. If you don't feel like unpacking, that's your business, and I would never tell you what to do or how to live your life. However, I will ask you to do something with me tonight. It's nothing special, so don't go spending a lot of time getting ready or doing… whatever it is women do. I'll see you tonight, and I'm sorry about this morning. – J. P.S. You should probably destroy this after you read it."

It was short, it was succinct, but it was sincere, and it made Elizabeth realize just how lonely she truly was.

**IX.**

It was one thing to pack up your life, to toss all your personal possessions in a box without absolutely any regard to order or reason, but it was a completely different story to unpack a life you no longer were allowed to have. Elizabeth had simply heaved her things together in a matter of minutes before she had officially disappeared from her previous existence. Clothes went into suitcases and boxes without being folded, mismatched and at tandem. Most of her personal belongings, those that could be traced back to who she once was, were now in the possession of the FBI, safely locked away in a security box, they reassured her. Her life's work, though it was still unpresented to the public, her paintings, were carelessly shipped to a storage facility in rural, Eastern Virginia, and she feared that she would never see them again. Everything else – her collection of books and movies, her impersonal knickknacks, hell, even her dishes were scattered about in the rest of the boxes, making each new container a potential emotional landmine when she opened it.  


Deciding to start out safely, she had first tackled finally pulling out and putting away all of her clothes. Both because she had been ordered to unpack and also because she wasn't sure just how long she and Jason would be staying in Dovetree, she hung up and put in her various dresser drawers not only her summer clothes but also her winter ones as well. For some reason, perhaps call it common sense, she suspected bringing down one of the most powerful and connected crime bosses on eastern seaboard would take longer than a mere season.

When the clothes were finished, she moved onto shoes and other various accessories. It was almost like going on a large shopping spree, finally getting to access her own extensive wardrobe. Having been previously limiting herself to whatever she could find in the nearest box to wear during the past month, even simply having her own clothes and things spread out her bedroom made her feel more at home, less like a stranger in her own house. With her various jewelry boxes on the dressing table, her perfume and cosmetics lined up for easy access on the bathroom countertop, and even the occasional stuffed animal or two tossed onto the chair in the corner, reminders of a childhood long since passed and so easily forgotten, it was also as if she was back in Port Charles. The only thing missing from truly making her feel welcome was artwork on the walls, but with little to no ambition to create and even less supplies, she was just going to have to be content with what she had.

It was when she was unpacking her old college textbooks when the illusion of peace she had been weaving that morning around the house shattered and broke into thousands of unrecognizable pieces around her. With a stack of books obviously too high for her petite self to carry, Elizabeth had trekked across the room anyway, perilously balancing the heavy tomes between her extended arms and her chin. She had been just mere steps away from the already partially filled bookcases containing row after row of Jason's travel guides, when the stack of books fell and scattered to the floor.

At first, her eyes and attention had been fixed towards the shelves themselves. _Her husband _had taken the very top rows and the very bottom ones for his own volumes, leaving her with the middle, more easily accessible ones. The simple gesture made a small, almost hesitant smile tug at her lips. It seemed like forever since someone had actually done something to make her feel appreciated, respected, hell, even thought of. But then her gaze dropped to the floor, to the spilled and forgotten papers that lay at her feet, and she immediately fell to her knees, quivering with a silent need to sob.

There, among the dozen or so fallen books, were the only personal belongings she had packed with her, breaking the rules by keeping them and risking not only her own life but Jason's as well. With trembling hands, she reached out to pick them up, quickly arranging them into a neat, organized, chronological pile. It was in that moment, when she was holding the only connection she still had left to her brother in her hands, that she finally broke down, and, even though it had just been hours before that morning when she had cried in the shower, it felt as if she had been holding her tears in for months. She had cried _that day_, too, and the reminder of that afternoon only made her sobs just that much more desperate and consuming.

_It felt odd to be going through someone else's paperwork, but what felt even stranger was the fact that you could actually get to know and understand a person by simply glancing through their most important belongings. Rifling through Steven's paperwork, Elizabeth encountered his various diplomas and medical licenses, clippings and captions from his illustrious career, and even a random note that still smelled like spilled beer from his undergraduate fraternity. She would have to remember to tease him about that when she _

_went to visit him the next time in…_

_No, she scolded herself, willing the thought away with a forceful shake of her head. Her older brother had sent her here to do something important for him, and she wasn't going to be deterred by thinking about things she couldn't change and couldn't possibly begin to fix. And, if nothing else, he needed her to remain positive. After all, with the rest of their family, if you could really call Jeff, Caroline, and Sarah that, off fighting disease and poverty in Africa, she was the only person he had left standing beside him. So, refocusing on the task at hand, she started searching through the various papers and envelopes again._

_The folder she needed could be clearly seen at the bottom of the pile, but this was the first and probably the last opportunity she'd have to see what kind of things her big brother was hiding from her, and, if nothing else, she was a nosey sibling who enjoyed lording blackmail material over her brother's head. What sister wouldn't? However, the very last thing she had expected to find in the safe deposit box was proof that she was loved and had been for years._

_She would have been more prepared to spot a secret marriage license shuffled in between the year before last and last year's tax return information. She had been hoping to find really embarrassing pictures of her brother, perhaps ones from when he was a teenager with unruly, curly hair, braces, and what she could only remember as the worst possible case of acne ever. And she had really been wishing for an old love letter or two, tied up with a pretty red ribbon. What she found instead, though, trumped any piece of dirt she could have possibly found on her older brother; they trumped it ten times over._

_Scattered around the box were dozens upon dozens of drawings she had made for Steven growing up as a child. Little girls always painted or colored pictures, but most of them would present their cherished pieces of artwork to their parents or their grandparents – but not precocious Elizabeth Imogene Webber. No, instead, she had given her handmade treasures to her big brother, the man she had looked up to and worshipped her entire life. Elizabeth had assumed he had tossed the works out years before, perhaps even throwing them away the day she given them to him, but, as she looked through the large pile, she realized that every single one was there and that they had been so treasured, her brother had kept them in his safety deposit box._

_There was her handprint turkey from preschool, its feathers a bright, fluorescent rainbow of pink, purple, and robin's egg blue. Seeing the ridiculous holiday decoration, she laughed, marveling at her own horrendous taste all those many years ago._

_Then there was the self portrait she had painted in second grade. Looking at the piece now, Elizabeth could finally see what her art teachers had recognized all those years ago – she had talent, even at such a young age. While the imagine itself was distorted, perhaps because of the rather poor self-esteem she had suffered from as a child growing up in Sarah Webber's shadow, the proportions were correct and beautiful even though it was obvious the artist didn't necessarily find herself to be pretty. Seeing the painting again made her want to attempt another, perhaps more positive self portrait._

_He also had her first attempt at a landscape. Sitting there in the drafty bank, Elizabeth could still remember the assignment quite clearly. Her eighth grade art teacher had assigned her class the task of drawing a landscape of something they found striking. There had been dozens of garden scenes, pastels of the ocean, and even a couple drawings of large, impressive McMansions. But she had been the only student in the class to turn in something unique, something truly thought provoking. After taking one of the city buses _

_into the slums of Denver, of course without her parents' permission or her siblings' knowledge, she had sat on the sidewalk outside a block of condemned and forgotten properties. The piece had turned out quite gritty, even including vague highlights made not out of a brown colored pencil but out of dirt to contrast the sharpness of her charcoal. At the tender age of fourteen, she had been proud of the work, and, almost eight years later, it delighted her to know that Steven had apparently found it to be special, too._

_And then there was the crowning piece of the portfolio she had submitted to PCU as a senior in high school in the hopes of being accepted into their art program… or at least a copy of it. It was still, even to that date, one of her darkest pieces, and, when she had created the small sketch, it had been a risk. The admissions office, among other things, had requested all applicants to submit a piece that represented an emotion. She had drawn what nothing felt like, and she had gotten into her college of choice. Steven had been so proud of her the day she had gotten her college acceptance letter in the mail. They had talked for hours that night on the phone - he at Stanford; her in Port Charles. What she wouldn't give in that moment to go back to that night…_

The shrill ring of the telephone snapped her back into the present, and she dropped the few select pieces of her own artwork that had once belonged to Steven back onto the ground when she stood up from her knees. Running through the house to the kitchen where the phone was resting on the table, she picked it up, breathless both from sudden alarm and the memories she was still fighting to push back away.

"Hello."

"Ellis," another woman greeted her, the slightly questioning tone to her voice unmistakable. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Didi," she answered. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, I was just wondering if you were coming into work this afternoon, dear," her boss inquired. "Your shift started fifteen minutes ago, and I hadn't heard from you…"

"I'm so sorry," the younger of the two women apologized profusely, running towards the living room as she continued to speak. "I was unpacking, and I totally lost track of time. Give me ten minutes, and I'll be there. I promise. And I'll work over, too," Elizabeth offered, scraping together her old art pieces and shoving them into a still yet to be unpacked box before locating her shoes and slipping them on.

"That won't be necessary," the flower shop owner dismissed. "I'll see you in a little bit, Ellis."

And, without further ado, Didi Russell hung up the phone.

**X.**

Silently working side by side with her boss, Elizabeth observed the arrangement before her. Though she knew nothing about flowers and couldn't name any by sight other than the obvious ones like a carnation and a rose, she had to admit that she had a flair for making attractive arrangements. Because of her art training, she was a good judge of color and scale, of proportion and texture, and her arrangements were quickly becoming more popular than Didi's, despite the woman having been in the business for more than twenty years.  


Surprising herself, she liked the work, too. Unlike waitressing tables, her profession of choice while she was still studying in college, working in a flower shop wasn't physically exhausting, and it allowed her to actually use her mind. Plus, it was quiet and relaxed as opposed to chaotic and oftentimes grimy, and, if pressed, she had to admit to herself that she liked the people who came into the shop, too.

"I thought we agreed last week that you'd quit thinking so loudly. Hell, even my head starts to hurt when you're this distracted."

"Sorry, Didi."

"There's no need to apologize," her boss chastised her gently, frowning slightly at her employee's rather dismal mood. "Just quit doing what you're doing. Or," she suggested, laying down her pruning shears, "instead, you could tell me what's bothering you."

Readjusting the calla lilies before her, the brunette denied, "there's nothing bothering me. I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"I assumed as much."

"What," Elizabeth started, turning to face the shop owner. "Why? How did you…"

"When I called you earlier, you sounded like you were in a whole different world, and then you told me that you were still unpacking. Sweetie, you've been here for almost a month, haven't you? How have you not gotten everything unpacked yet?" Sighing, the older woman dropped her tone to a confidential whisper. "Are you and Jack having problems? You know, I wasn't going to say anything, but there's been talk about town saying that you two…"

"We're fine," she interrupted her boss. Repeating herself, she said the words with even more conviction. "Jack and I, we're fine."

"Well, I was just making sure…"

Turning back to their respective arrangements, the two women resumed work. Glancing at her employer out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth had to smile softly to herself. She really did like the older woman. In her late forties, Didi Russell was truly an independent force to be reckoned with. Twice divorced but with no children of her own, the tall, curvaceous shop owner claimed she didn't need a man in her life to feel complete and had, in fact, swore herself off of them forever. She was still attractive, though, with her long, naturally black hair and curious but also kind green eyes, and Elizabeth knew that, despite the florist's declarations of self-sufficiency and autonomy, there were several men in Dovetree that would happily become the third Mr. Didi Russell.

Suddenly feeling guilty for her abrupt behavior, the younger of the two women offered, "I'm just lonely."

Her employer put her shears down once again. If there was anything else widely known about the florist, it was the fact that she was perpetually unable to do two things at once. "Oh, sweetie, that's not good."

"I know."

"Have you told Jack this," Didi wanted to know, piercing the brunette across from her with a questioning gaze.

"Not in so many words," the former artist confessed, "but he knows. I think he's lonely, too. I mean, there's only so much time two people can spend with each other before they need some outside stimulation. But he has all the guys from work and his pool table…"

"Oh, now that's hot."

Despite herself, Elizabeth laughed. "I can't believe you just said that about… about my husband."

"Somebody had to," the older woman teased, winking at her employee. "Now, don't you worry your pretty little head about this anymore. Just leave everything to me, and I'll fix you right up."

"Didi…"

"Hush," the older woman ordered playfully. "And get back to work. I don't pay you to keep me company, do I?"

"Well," Elizabeth hedged, giggling when the woman beside her simply rolled her eyes in response.

"And take one of those gardenias in the fridge home with you," the florists instructed. "Wear it… and nothing else… for your husband tonight."

"I can't," she responded, blushing furiously at the very thought of doing something so brazen with a man, especially a man like Jason. "We're going out somewhere tonight, but I'll still take the flower."

"Oh well," Didi dismissed rather cheekily. "I'm sure he'd rather take the clothes off of you anyway."

With a shared glance, the two women burst into giggles, their work long forgotten.

**XI.**

She had been watching the new girl in town all evening. Normally, pick up softball games were not her personal choice of nightly entertainment, but Betsy Northam had made an exception that evening. For the first time since her new neighbors had moved in a month ago, they were finally going to be attending a town function, and she certainly was not going to miss an opportunity to see the young couple in action… so to speak.

She had to admit that she was intrigued by the Martins. Although, personally, she had, so far, had absolutely no interaction with her neighbors, Evelyn, at the last garden club meeting, had admitted to hearing about young Ellis from Didi. The two women, constant gossips both of them, had been talking on the phone the week before and just so happened to conveniently discuss the petite brunette. Didi had informed Evelyn that Ellis was a delightful if not somewhat shy and reserved young woman and, apparently, according to Evelyn, a flower genius.

Well, she would be damned if Evelyn Shepherd knew more about someone than she did, so, 

taking the opportunity that had just practically dropped into her lap with the softball game, Betsy slowly, cautiously made her way towards her new neighbor. Ellis was sitting alone at the top of the bleachers, and, though she was worried about how exactly she was going to get down once the game was over, Betsy threw caution to the wind and climbed the rickety, wooden structure anyway. At least if she fell, it was for a good cause.

"Your husband's quite the dish out there."

"Excuse me," the twenty-something brunette queried, appearing to be taken aback by her sudden manifestation beside her. "Do I know you…?"

"We're neighbors," Betsy answered, waving off the younger woman's concern. "But that doesn't matter right now. I know who you are, and, soon enough, you'll know who I am, too."

"Alright then," Ellis agreed with her, sounding anything but persuaded. "If you say so…"

"I do. Now, as I was saying about that husband of yours…"

"Jack," the brunette interrupted. "His name is Jack."

Betsy ignored her. "Has he been playing softball long? He's quite good."

"He's good at anything he sets his mind to. I'm sorry," the younger woman apologized, turning to face her, "but is there a particular reason for your sudden interest in our lives?"

"Just trying to be neighborly."

Ellis snorted, and she found herself wanting to laugh but denying herself the outward display of amusement. They sat in silence for several minutes, both of their gazes trained upon the man about whom they had been previously speaking of. He was catching, his jean clad legs bent in a squatting position, his back taunt with focus and anticipation, his left arm outstretched with the glove to catch the pitches being hurled in his direction.

Despite the fact that she was an old spinster, Betsy still found herself appreciating the image Jack Martin made. The man was handsome. When she told his wife that he was quite the dish, she had meant it, and, many years ago, back when she was still passably attractive herself, he would have been just the type of man she would have wanted to date. Unfortunately, though, men like Jack Martin had never wanted to date her. Instead, they went for the softly spoken, malleable women like the one sitting beside her. But, then again, Ellis Martin obviously had some spunk to her, even if it was hidden behind an impassive exterior, and she found herself wondering just exactly what one would have to do to see her inner fire and passion released. That was for another day though; she had different fish to fry that evening.

"I've been watching you and your husband this past month," the elderly woman admitted, never once breaking her gaze away from the softball game, but she felt her younger counterpart tense beside her. "And I was wondering, just who exactly were those two men that came to visit your husband last night?"

"Old friends of ours," the brunette retorted, standing up and reaching for her purse. "If you'll excuse me, the game's almost over, and I want to have something ready for Jack to eat and drink when he's finished. He hasn't eaten yet this evening, and I'm afraid we're low 

on food at home."

With that, Ellis Martin brushed past her, quickly descending the bleachers as she made her way towards the concession stand. But, still, Betsy remained, observing, studying, analyzing. She watched as the couple met up in silence after the game, as the wife stood by as the husband quickly consumed his two hot dogs with everything on them and washed them down with an ice cold bottle of water. She watched as he threw away his garbage, Ellis trailing behind him. She watched as Jack waved goodbye and called out companionably to several of the men he worked with, no doubt the very people who had invited him to join their pickup game of softball in the park in the first place. And, then, she watched the two of them meander slowly towards their SUV, hand in hand.

While there were obviously things that Jack and Ellis Martin were hiding from the rest of the town and, perhaps, even the rest of the world, Betsy know one thing about the couple for sure – they fit together well. Physically, they were a beautiful pair, but it was more than that. There was an aura around them when they were together, a sense of rightness, a feeling of belonging, of being home.

However, that didn't mean that she wasn't going to get to the bottom of their secrets. No, nothing could deter her from discovering the truth about her new neighbors, and she was going to get right on her task… as soon as she found a way back down to solid ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

**XII.**

His favorite moment of the day was lunch time. For a man that forgot to eat, felt that the old saying three meals a day keeps the doctor away held absolutely no credence, and, for that matter, thought that doctors were rather unnecessary unless one was practically dying from a bullet wound, it was a particularly odd sentiment. But it wasn't the fact that he got to eat that made Jason enjoy his lunch break every day at work. Instead, it was because those thirty minutes were the only time he managed to find himself any peace and quiet.

He'd find a shade tree to sit under or an out of the way corner of the house they were working on, and he'd read. It didn't matter what it was – travel guide, daily newspaper, trade magazine, he just enjoyed the silence and the solitude. Sometimes he would eat, especially now that Elizabeth was making an effort and insisted that she pack his lunch for him seeing as how _a man wouldn't know what a proper meal if it smacked him in the face_, but, when he wasn't in the mood to waste time on such petty trivialities such as food, sometimes he didn't.

The other men were pretty good about leaving him alone, too, which he appreciated. Sure, most of them harassed him about needing his _personal time _every day, but, after the first few jokes, he had quickly realized they were just being guys and that their pestering was their way of showing him that he was accepted. But sometimes they were unavoidable, sometimes they, too, wanted to sit outside in the shade where it was cooler, and he certainly couldn't begrudge them the very luxury he sought out for himself. On those days, when the other construction workers were nearby, he simply attempted to tune them out. It wasn't a difficult task, and, in fact, he was actually capable of listening to what they were saying, just to make sure nothing came up that raised a red flag, and minding his own business, reading, at the same time.

"It's my wedding anniversary this weekend," some guy named Gary or George or Garrett spoke up, sharing with the other men. "It's been five years since I signed my life away." Jason wasn't really sure what his name was, and he really didn't care to know. Instead, he knew that Gary or George or Garrett stood at just under six foot, weighing in at barely 160 pounds. The guy was all limbs, no coordination, no grace, no agility. He wouldn't be able to fight his way out of a paper sack let alone attack a former mafia enforcer and come out victorious. He was definitely not someone Jason had to worry about. "The wife's been going on and on all week about it, bugging the hell out of me about her present."

"Well," another co-worker asked, sounding curious. This one was the opposite of the string bean. Heavy, almost to the point of being corpulent, and short, the man Jason believed to be named Ray was far too out of shape to ever pose as a threat to him. "What did you get her?"

"A dishwasher. The damn woman always harps on me about washing the dishes, and I figured this way neither one of us really will have to now."

He almost snorted. Despite the fact that his current _marriage _was only for show, for protection, and despite the fact that it had been quite a long time since he was involved in a truly functioning relationship, the onetime hitman knew that no woman would want a dishwasher for her fifth wedding anniversary. Gary or George or Garrett was a fool, and, as he listened to the other men harp upon him, he knew that he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Ray went on to say, "you're supposed to do somethin' nice for your wife on your anniversary, Dipshit. Sweet talk her, butter her up with some good smellin' perfume or some ridiculous flowers. Or," he added, sounding sly and sending a look in Jason's direction that could only be taken for what it was: trouble, "if you had a Mrs. at home waiting for you like Martin over there," he nodded towards the silently reading blonde, "you'd buy her some real nice attractive lingerie, and you'd see just how long you could manage to keep her in bed with you."

Ignoring the comments about Elizabeth and all the thoughts, thoughts he should not be having about _his wife_ that they brought to mind, he refocused himself upon the climatic information of Tibet before him in his book. The fact of the matter was that, since he had seen Elizabeth standing before him in just her thin camisole and underwear, he'd been able to think of little else but the woman he lived with. Add to that the fact that she was no longer ignoring him and was actually being nice… or as nice as one could be in the situation they were stuck in together, and he was having a hard time remembering that they didn't actually like each other, especially when he knew that the only reason he had ever resented the petite brunette in the first place was because she had always held a grudge against him. The truth was he had always found her attractive. He found her intelligence refreshing, her independence admirable, and was slightly envious of her passion for both life and art, for he had nothing that he was so zealous about except for maybe his pool table and beer, and Jason had a feeling those two things really didn't count.

"Oh, I saw her at the game last night," a third man joined the discussion, weighing in with his two cents as well. "And let me tell you, I wouldn't mind going home to that every evening. No wonder Martin refuses to go out with us after work." The man who was talking, who was really starting to piss him off, was new to their crew. A young kid just out of high school, he was one of the only ones who had not gotten married yet. For some reason, the men in Dovetree all seemed to marry young. Jason had to wonder if it was due to boredom or just a heightened sense of the inevitable. After all, why fight something if you knew it was going to happen anyway? The kid went on, and he found it practically impossible to concentrate on the average amount of rainfall Tibet received every year. "Why, she was talking to old Miss Northam, and she was giving it back to that old bat just as fast as she could dish it out. And with those red nails of hers and that tight little…"

"Not another word, Adam," the retired enforcer growled, leveling the nineteen year old with his most lethal glare. The kid shut up immediately.

"Aw, come on, Jack," the string bean – Gary beseeched him. When push came to shove, he could always remember a name. "Not all of us get to go home to a wife like yours. Tell us some stories. After all, we share with you."

"I respect Ellis too much to ever talk about her and our personal life with you guys, and, if I ever hear you discussing her the way you were this afternoon…"

He let the threat end there, but Jason also knew that each and every one of his co-workers realized just how serious both he was and the consequences would be if they dared to disrespect Elizabeth again. His annoyance with their actions had nothing to do with the fact that he actually didn't have stories to share with them and everything to do with knowing the woman he lived with would not appreciate being talked about in such a manner. Easily, he could have swapped a story from his past with some anonymous woman from a bar and replaced the one night stand with _his wife's _identity, but that wouldn't be fair to either of them – himself or Elizabeth, and, frankly, any thoughts he might have about being with the 

beautiful brunette in that way were personal, so personal, in fact, he had a hard time even admitting them to himself, let alone sharing them with a bunch of overeager, rude, disrespectful men.

Picking up his stuff, both his uneaten lunch and his book which he closed haphazardly, not taking the time to mark his page, he made his way across the yard, determined to just go back to the house and start working again despite the fact that he still had twenty minutes left of his break. He didn't care that he wouldn't get paid for the extra labor. After all, the money was not the reason either he or Elizabeth had jobs in Dovetree. Instead, they were simply a part of their cover. He had enough money stocked aside to support the both of them in an extremely comfortable manner for several lifetimes.

"I heard what you said back there."

The words and the voice made him pause in his long strides. Turning around, he found his boss leaning against the trunk of a tree, his bare arms folded over his chest. Dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a cut off, thin dress shirt, Tom Patterson looked like any other construction worker. There was nothing about his appearance that made him stand out as the boss, as the owner of the business Jason worked for, and the younger man respected him for that… among other things. His employer was tall, slightly balding, and had merry, brown eyes. Despite his age, 62, he was still twice the worker than some of the younger men under his direction, and he would get just as dirty as anyone else. But his boss also seemed younger simply because it was obvious that he was excited about his life, that he lived each and every day to the fullest. It was just something else to admire about Tom Patterson.

"While they might come across as offensive," the older man continued talking despite Jason's silence, "they're all relatively good men."

"I know."

"I just didn't want what just happened to interfere with your job."

"It won't," he assured him.

"However," Tom continued, moving to walk back towards the house with his employee. "I can completely understand your stance on the situation. What happens between a man and wife is private, sacred even some would say. Most men these days just don't get that, and I'll be frank with you, Jack. I was impressed by your apparent respect for your wife."

The former hitman shrugged, brushing aside the compliment. "She deserves it."

"I'm sure she does, and, speaking of the lovely Mrs.," the balding man segued, "my own has been pushing me to ask you and Ellis over for dinner some time soon. She's heard me talk about you, and, now, she has it in her mind that she needs to meet both of you, especially," he added with an amused twinkle to his chocolate eyes, "since she heard that Ellis put Betsy Northam in her place last night. My wife has had it out for that old biddy since she was fourteen, so she automatically feels as if she and your wife will be kindred spirits." Realizing what he just said, Tom backtracked. "I mean, that's how she put it herself. I don't have any idea what the woman meant by such a foolish notion."

Jason soundlessly chuckled but found himself agreeing to the dinner plans quite easily. "I'll have to check with Ellis, but I'm sure dinner will be fine."  


"Well, then, how does tomorrow night sound?"

He thought about it for a moment, mulling over in his mind whether or not he and Elizabeth had any plans, but it was a wasted effort. Of course they didn't have plans. Neither of them worked Saturday evenings, so they wouldn't have anything to do. "Tomorrow night sounds great. If you don't hear from me this evening, then my wife agreed. Do you want us to bring…"

"Nonsense," his boss interrupted him before he could even finish offering. "Amanda, that's my wife, would have my hide if I let you bring anything. Just make sure you and the Mrs. are there promptly at seven, and she'll be as happy as a kitten with a fresh bowl of cream."

The two men stood there then, awkwardly staring at one another, not sure what to say. It was obvious that neither of them were used to making social plans and that they both felt out of their element. Eventually, though, the blonde mumbled something about going back to start working again, and Tom left to round up the rest of his employees, leaving Jason in his solitude again. Sighing, he returned to his station of the house where he was hanging new siding, relieved to be alone. When his thoughts immediately turned to _his wife_, though, he almost sought out some company. Almost but not quite.

**XIII.**

It was a beautiful, late summer day, and Elizabeth simply wanted everything to stop, for her life to freeze in place for the moment. Sitting outside on a bench in front of the shop, she felt relaxed and at peace, all of her nervous energy dispelled after a six hour shift at work. Her past had been pushed to the back of her mind by Didi's constant chatter, and, for the first time since she had been forced to move to Dovetree, she and Jason had managed to make their way through an entire 24 hour time period without once getting into a fight.

But she knew the calm couldn't last forever.

So that's why she didn't want the day to progress beyond that point. If Jason never picked her up from work, then they wouldn't be forced to see each other, and they wouldn't inevitably end the unspoken truce that seemed to temporarily exist between them. If Jason didn't pick her up, then they wouldn't have to go grocery shopping together, presenting to their neighbors the picture of domestic bliss. And, if Jason didn't pick her up, then she could continue to close her eyes and pretend that she was still back in Port Charles, still a college student, and still faithfully believing that everything was right in her world; she could still, just for a moment, imagine she was happy.

"Would you mind some company, Dear?"

Peeking open one eye, the brunette observed the elderly woman beside her before smiling, scooting over, and fully revealing her bright, blue gaze. "I'd love some, Mrs. Shepherd."

"Please, Ellis," she corrected the younger woman. "It's Evelyn. If you insist that I call you by your first name, you must reciprocate the gesture."

Elizabeth nodded her head in acceptance before asking, "so, what are you doing here? The shop's closed already, but, if it's an emergency, I have a set of keys, so I could open it for you."

"Is there such a thing as a flower emergency," the elegant widow returned smartly, making them both laugh. "No, I'm just out taking a walk, but I appreciate the offer. It was very sweet of you."

"Well, you're one of my favorite customers," the former artist shared conspiratorially. "But don't tell anyone else that."

"It'll be our secret, Dear."

And it would be. Not only did she really like Mrs. Evelyn Shepherd, but she trusted her as well. While the aged woman appeared frail, Elizabeth knew that she had a kind of strength and resolve she could only wish herself to have one day. The elegant, always perfectly mannered mother of four still lived on her own in the house she and her already deceased husband had raised their family in, fully capable of taking care of herself without any outside assistance. Plus, despite her age which the young woman estimated to be in the late 70's, she was still quite beautiful. Slender but still womanly, she dressed fashionably but still managed to act and appear her age. Her long, practically white hair was always up in a simple bun at the nape of her neck, and her wise, insightful blue eyes sparkled with the knowledge only a woman who has been a wife and mother can have.

Shaking her from her thoughts, the grandmother inquired, "if you don't mind me asking, Ellis, why are you sitting out here?"

"Oh, I'm just waiting for Jack to pick me up," she answered easily, breezing off the older woman's question. "Normally, I walk home, but, because we're going grocery shopping this evening, that would just be a waste of time. So, I told him I'd wait outside the shop for him until he got off."

Evelyn laughed softly. "You two are quite the odd pair, do you realize that?" Moving on from the rhetorical remark quickly, she explained, "most young couples your age would be out having fun on a Friday night, not grocery shopping."

"Well, we really need food." When her friend rolled her eyes, the recent college graduate went on, "plus, we're not the type to really go out. Jack likes to spend quiet evenings in the house playing pool or reading."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

Expanding upon her inquiry, the older woman pressed, "what do you like to do in your spare time?"

"Oh," the brunette breathed out, slightly caught off guard. Instead of thinking about her answer, though, she just reacted instinctively. "I like to draw." She knew she wasn't supposed to continue her art while she was in hiding, and she knew that the agents would be displeased with her response, but she figured it was pretty safe to tell some old biddy the truth. After all, it was highly unlikely that Mrs. Shepherd had contacts with the mob.

"So, you're an artist then?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Elizabeth denied, blushing slightly. "It's just a hobby at this point."

As if sensing the newlywed's discomfort, the grandmother changed the subject. "Speaking of hobbies, I've been meaning to speak to you about joining our garden club."

"I don't know…"

"Baloney," Evelyn waved off her protests without even listening to them. "Didi's already told me that you're slightly lonely, but that's to be expected when you're new in town, and, while, granted, hanging out with a bunch of old ladies probably isn't your idea of a good time, you do seem to have a knack for flowers… even if you aren't quite familiar with all their names." She had to giggle politely in that moment, feeling as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It was becoming a well known and popular joke around the flower shop that she was hopeless when it came to being able to name the various blooms by their actual names. Instead, she referred to them by nicknames she made up herself or by their descriptions, and her older friend was always one to tease her mercilessly about the fact. "Plus, we really need some fresh blood, a young pretty face to offset all our wrinkled countenances, and, if you happen to talk that stud of a husband of yours into joining us as well, we'd probably wave your dues."

And that was another thing they always taunted her about. Apparently, every single elderly woman in Dovetree had a crush on Jason. She hadn't told him yet about his popularity. That was a piece of information she was saving for a day when _her husband _needed to be put back in his place. Plus, for the moment, it was nice to have the little anecdote to laugh at privately when no one else was around.

"Alright," she found herself agreeing and reluctantly feeling excited about, "I'll give it a try, but I'm not making you any promises. If I don't like it, then I'm not going to join simply because we're friends."

"And what about Mr. Martin?"

Elizabeth laughed again, feeling amused that the older woman just wouldn't give up. "Let's put it this way," the brunette hedged. "I wouldn't count on him becoming your first and only male member if I were you."

"So, you're saying there's hope." Standing up, the grandmother prepared to leave as an SUV pulled up to the curb. "I'll see you around, Ellis."

"Wait," she called out, stopping her friend from going. "We can give you a ride."

"Dear, my house is in the opposite direction of the grocery store."

"Evelyn, it's half a mile away. Get in the damn car." With a smile and a wink, the older woman obliged, climbing easily into the backseat without any assistance. Once they were both buckled in, the former artist turned to _her husband_ to make introductions. "Jack, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Shepherd. She's both a customer from the shop and a friend. I told her we'd take her home, so I'll show you where to go."

She watched as Jason nodded in the rearview mirror towards the white haired woman, respectfully greeting her without saying anything. However, the same couldn't be said for the woman in the backseat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Martin. Ellis has told me a lot about you. In fact, at this point, I almost feel as if I'm married to you, too. So, please, call me Evelyn."

Noticing the slight flare of discomfort in the onetime enforcer's gaze, Elizabeth cut in. "Stop flirting with Jack, Evelyn." Turning towards the man beside her, she corrected, "and I've barely told her anything about you. She just has an overactive imagination, don't you," she asked rhetorically, eyeing her friend with what could only be described as a playful glare.

The grandmother seemed to pay it no mind though. "So, tell me," she insisted, glancing back and forth between the apparent couple before her. "How did the two of you meet?"

For some reason, unlike Jason, the brunette didn't feel even a moment's uncertainty or hesitation with the question. Instead, she just jumped right into a story. "There was this little diner that I would eat at every day before I went off to classes in the morning, and, on the very first day that Jack was in town, he stopped by there to eat before he went to work. He sat down beside me, silently, but, after we displayed similar mannerisms while drinking our coffee, he started talking to me. Small talk, really, but, before I left for school and before he left for work, he ended up buying me another cup of coffee, and, now, just a few short months later, here we are."

Evelyn could be heard sighing dreamily from the backseat. "Married, in love, and crazy about each other."

She chuckled. "I guess that's one way to put it."

"Well, this is me," the older woman called out as Jason approached her driveway. "Just let me off down here," she instructed them. "I still have to get my mail. Thanks for the ride, and I'll be in contact, Ellis, to let you know more about our next meeting." As she was getting out of the SUV, she reminded her, "and don't forget about what I told you about the dues…"

"I won't," the twenty-two year old reassured her, shaking her head in amusement.

It wasn't until they were a few houses down from Mrs. Shepherd's that the blonde next to her asked, "what was all that about?"

"Oh, she told me that if I got you to join the garden club as well, she'd wave my fees."

Jason snorted. "Why the hell would I join a garden club?" She didn't respond. Instead, she just shrugged her shoulders before glancing back out the passenger side, tinted window. Breaking the silence, _her husband _stated, "and you don't drink coffee."

"Not anymore, but, when I was still in college, sometimes I did just so it would help me wake up… and stay awake."

He became silent for another few minutes and then said, "what made you think of that story about how we met? I was lost as to what we should tell her, but you didn't even blink an eye."

"Well, that comes from years of experience with lying to my parents when I was kid, but the story was actually from a movie." Grinning secretively to herself, Elizabeth reassured him, "don't worry. It's not a movie Evelyn's very likely to be familiar with, and, even if she did stumble across it one day, it's a simple enough first meeting that it could be explained as a mere coincidence. Besides," she added, laughing, "after that initial first scene, the guy dies in the movie."

"What," Jason yelled, slightly swerving the car and making her laugh even harder. "I got killed off?"

"But you get to come back at the very end. Death gives you a second chance."

"This sounds like the most ridiculous movie ever," he complained, mumbling slightly with a furrowed brow. If Elizabeth didn't know better, she'd think he was pouting. "I can't believe you picked this movie as the one to base our entire fake relationship upon."

"Wow," she teased him, refusing to look at him. "Who would have imagined you were this sensitive? And here I thought you'd be more offended by the fact that your character had frosted hair."

Jason's immediate reaction – a whole deluge of swearing, words that made her cheeks stain a pretty shade of pink, had her giggling uncontrollably to herself the rest of the ride to the grocery store. Realizing how entertaining it was to make fun of the retired hitman, the brunette decided that she would make fun of _her husband _more often. If nothing else, at least his presence in her life could prove to be amusing. Plus, laughing at Jason was much better than constantly thinking about him, thinking about things she shouldn't even be considering with him in mind. Amusement was much healthier, must safer than attraction.

**XIV.**

With a credit card that essentially had the Bureau's name on it, Elizabeth was showing no restraint when it came to their purchases. Tossing into the cart anything and everything she could ever want to eat herself or he could ever imagine consuming, their buggy was quickly filling up with enough perishable and non-perishable items to feed them for at least a month's time. It seemed as if she didn't care how much of the FBI's money they spent, and he certainly had no qualms about what was going to be an extravagant bill. All he needed was some of his favorite beer, and he'd be happy.

As he pushed the cart up and down the rows, Jason found himself breaking the easy silence that had been surrounding them since they got to the store by stating, "there's something I have to tell you."

"That sounds ominous."

The blonde contemplated _his wife's_ statement as they turned up into another aisle. Finally, he responded, "no, not really," and immediately he could tell that his reassurance calmed her nerves. Although he hated to see her so jumpy, at that point in her young life, he also knew that Elizabeth needed to be prepared for anything. It was the only way she would manage to stay alive and one step ahead of everyone else, especially her enemies. While she grabbed various items off the shelves, piling in paper towels, toilet paper, Kleenexes, and cleaning supplies on top of their already heaping pile of purchases, he went on to explain, "my boss invited us both over to his house tomorrow night to have dinner with him and his wife."

"That was nice of him," the former artist replied.

"I told him we'd come. I hope that's alright."

She shrugged. "I don't see why not. It'll be good for us to spend time with some other people. Do they want us to bring anything?"  


"Actually, Tom, that's my boss' name," Jason informed her, "told me he'd probably get in trouble with his wife if we dared to bring anything but ourselves, so no."

Glancing over at the petite woman next to him, he saw her bite her plump bottom lip in what could only be construed as a nervous habit. "Do you think they'll like me?" Before he could reply, she rushed on to add, "I mean, he's your boss. It would probably be bad if his wife hated me by the time the evening was over."

"Tom's a pretty cool guy, so I imagine his wife is, too. Don't worry so much, Ellis," he told her, moving the cart along so they could continue with their shopping. "Besides, it's not like you're an unlikeable person."

Elizabeth seemed to glower at him after that particular gem of a statement. "Yes, because you like me so much," she hissed in annoyance.

"We're an exception to just about every rule out there," he argued with her, believing himself to be making a rather insightful point. "And, if you really want to know the truth, I don't hate you - far from it, actually. We just… there's a lot of history between us, most of it bad." The tip of her head had him correcting his previous admission. "Alright, so it's all pretty much bad, but, still," Jason contended, "you're a friendly person. You and Amanda, that's Tom's wife's name, will get along fine. Stop worrying so much."

He knew she responded back to him, probably something smart and sarcastic knowing Elizabeth, but he couldn't hear her. Blindly, foolishly, they had been making their way through the grocery store without any awareness for what was going on around them, and the carelessness with which he had been conducting himself had finally come back to bite him. Whenever he had to buy food, he always made sure he skipped one aisle on purpose. Seeing the things it contained, being around those items that took him back to the only time in his life he was truly at peace, truly happy, never failed to break him down for just a moment until he managed to snap himself out of his memory induced stupor. But it was too late. They were already there, standing amidst row after row of baby food jars, diapers, and various other baby necessities. Without meaning to, his attention immediately zeroed in on a jar of Gerber's peas, and, just like that, he was lost.

_Unwisely, he had agreed to go out with his girlfriend for the evening. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy spending time with her, because he honestly did. She made him laugh, and she was fun, but they had two very different opinions about where they should be seen, or, rather, she cared about those types of things, and he didn't. While he would rather stay at home and just spend time with their family or go out to Jake's for a few games of pool and a couple of beers, Carly liked the finer things in life. She liked to spend his money, look good while doing so, and let everyone know just how much money he had in first place. They truly were opposites._

_On that particular night, she was demanding dinner and dancing at The PC Grill, ignoring the fact that he hated his family, abhorred fancy food, and couldn't dance to save his life. Plus, she was making him dress up, and, if there was anything worse than feeling out of place, it was feeling uncomfortable while doing so. The mother of his son was going to make him put on a suit, and a dress shirt, and a shiny pair of pinching shoes, and he hated it. He only drew the line, though, at wearing ties, and, luckily, Carly knew better than to insist._

_However, he, too, knew how to offer ultimatums. While she threatened him with fits of rage and promises to leave if he didn't cooperate, he made her behave like a mother first and his _

_girlfriend second. Michael was his first priority in life, and he did everything he could to make sure that their little boy was Carly's as well. Sometimes he failed, but, on nights like the present one, he felt as if he was succeeding._

_She had gotten ready earlier while he gave Michael a bath, but, since their son would need fed before the babysitter arrived and before they could go out, he had bargained with Carly, asking her to feed the little boy while he showered and changed. Wanting to leave as soon as possible and not wanting to fight about what he was wearing that evening, she had agreed, putting on a robe over her barely there, extravagant clothes. She had sworn to make sure that Michael ate each and every single bite of his peas and peaches before they left, no matter what._

_Coming down the stairs, Jason realized just how seriously, or perhaps it was flippantly, she took her assurance to him. Instead of tossing out the peas, one of their son's least favorite vegetables, before he could catch her letting Michael get away with not finishing his dinner, his girlfriend was eating them herself. Knowing just how much Carly hated anything remotely healthy for her, he could only imagine how much she detested the baby food. However, her screwed up face did give him somewhat of a hint. But he couldn't find it in himself to be mad at her. It was just such a Carly thing to do, and it made him realize just how much she wanted to go out that night with him, making the fact that he was about to spend the next several hours in a suit, sans tie, at a hotel the Quartermaines owned dining and dancing a little bit more bearable._

_Sneaking up on her, he leaned over her shoulder, tilting her face towards his own as he kissed her, thoroughly surprising Carly and making her jump from shock. "Um, peas," he moaned playfully, making her blush, "my favorite."_

_She laughed nervously, evading his gaze. "You caught me, and you're probably mad, but Michael was not eating them, and I said we wouldn't leave until they were all gone, and…"_

_"It's alright," he reassured her, reaching around her to lift their son from his highchair. "I'm not mad."_

_"You're not?"_

_She stood up beside him, and, astonishing even himself at how lighthearted, how carefree he was being, he kissed her again. "I'm not. I promise."_

_Theirs wasn't your typical relationship. While, yes, they were technically dating and had a son together, they both knew that he was not in love with Carly as she was with him. Although he considered her a good friend, Michael had been conceived on what was supposed to be a one night stand. However, when a very pregnant and scared Carly showed up on his doorstep eight months later, Jason had taken her in, provided her with a home and more money than even she could spend, and they raised their little boy together. She constantly tried to make their relationship more than what it was – two parents cohabitating for the sake of their child, and, occasionally, like that particular night, sometimes he crossed the line and actually treated her like someone he was dating, but they were never going to get married, never going to share a bedroom on a full time basis. Despite her complaining about the matter, Carly seemed to easily accept the fact that Jason simply didn't see her that way, and, at least for the time being, their setup worked for them… even if no one else seemed to understand it._

_"On second thought," she flirted, wrapping her slender arms around his neck to hold him _

_close to her, "maybe we should just stay in."_

_Without saying a word, he agreed, nodding his head in acceptance. He'd sleep with Carly again, especially since she knew, in the morning, their relationship would go back to how it was before. Besides, he really did not want to go out, and, this way, they both got what they wanted._

_"I'm just going to put Michael down for the night. Will you…?"_

_"I'll be waiting down here," she promised him._

_Taking the stairs two at a night, Jason made his way towards his son's room as quickly as he could. To say it had been a while since he had been with a woman was quite the understatement, and he found himself both eager and ready to enjoy…_

"I don't know what's wrong with you right now, but people are staring."

In his mind's eye, he could still see his old penthouse, could still smell that clean, unique baby scent of his son, but, at the same time, the retired enforcer was well aware of the fact that he was standing in the middle of a grocery store with Elizabeth Webber, of all women in the world, in his arms. She had her face pressed up intimately against his neck, whispering soft words into his ears, and, despite the fact that he wanted to break free of the past, that he really wanted to enjoy the moment he was currently sharing with _his wife_, he found that he couldn't. The memories were just too strong. But, then, he felt the beautiful brunette who was holding him kiss his neck, and, immediately, his own arms came up to wrap around her.

"I'll help you, okay," she told him. Slowly, more and more of their surroundings came back them, and he noticed several customers, all of them with children in the front seats of their carts, watching him and Elizabeth with open curiosity on their faces. "We're just going to leave the cart here. I'll come back and get groceries by myself tomorrow afternoon," she murmured so only he could hear her. "Now, when I let go of you, I'm going to take your hand, and I want you to follow me out of the store. Can you do that?"

Jason nodded his head, just once, but the onetime artist seemed to accept it without doubt. Just like she said she would, she unwound her arms from his neck, and he instantly felt the loss of them. Taking his hand, she led him out of the baby aisle, towards the front of the store, and out to their SUV. It wasn't until they were half way home, Elizabeth driving, that he completely came out of the daze he had been under. Glancing across the center console to the women who had just saved him in a way, he saw her in a new light. While she might be fighting demons from her past, so was he, and, eventually, if they wanted to survive the mess they were both currently in, they were going to have to talk about what was chasing them, what was haunting them.

"Thank you," he offered her sincerely once she stopped at the one light the town of Dovetree had to offer.

Meeting his gaze, _his wife_ observed him carefully before admitting, "you'd do the same for me, Jason."

And he would, but, before he could tell her that, the light changed again, and they were on their way. Silence descended over the car, but it wasn't uncomfortable, and, in it, he realized that it was redundant to tell her something she already knew. However, he liked 

the fact that she had a little bit of faith in him, that, when the chips were down, she trusted him to take care of her. It wasn't everything they would need to get through the next several months together, and it certainly wouldn't help them become friends, but it was a start, and, really, at that point, that's all he needed from her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

**XV.**

If those who knew him as Jason Morgan could see him now…

He was digging flowerbeds. Shirtless and sweaty, his jeans stained with dirt and saturated with perspiration, it was an image he never thought he'd present. But, then again, in the past, he had never foreseen joining the witness protection program either. He had not imagined himself living in the middle of nowhere, working a nine to five job, and, all things, pretending to be just some average Joe. And he had certainly not predicted doing all those things along side one Miss Elizabeth Webber of all women.

However, the most surprising aspect of his new life that left him rather shocked was that he didn't altogether hate being Jack Martin. Sure, he missed the rush of excitement, the adrenaline, and the constant sense of volatility that was associated with being a mob enforcer, but there were also things, as well, that he didn't miss. He didn't miss the city and the noise that went along with it. It almost seemed easier to think in the country, the quiet practically demanding a person be contemplative. He also didn't miss who he was as a hitman – the emotionless façade he was forced to present to the world because his very existence depended upon it. In Dovetree, he could laugh if he wanted to, he could smile, and, if he was angry with someone or something, he could show it… not that he did so very often, but, still, it was nice to have the options.

The best difference, though, was the fact that he and Elizabeth were starting to actually get along. For the first time since they met, they were capable of sharing a civil word with each other, of actually having a real, honest conversation. It wasn't perfect, and there was still plenty of tension and underlying issues between them that would, eventually, have to be discussed, but he certainly didn't miss the silence and animosity which had surrounded them for years back in Port Charles. Their new relationship wasn't perfect, far from it, actually, but it was a place to begin, a foundation to build upon.

He didn't pause in his work when he heard _his wife _pull into the driveway, the SUV they shared purring quietly until it was parked and turned off. Elizabeth had been at the grocery store all morning, repeating the process they or, rather, he had failed at the day before. But he knew that the food could wait for a little while in its paper and plastics bags, but the former artist's curiosity couldn't. She made quick work of crossing the closely cropped lawn only to stop and stand beside him, her hands cocked on her short clad hips and her face, screwed up in confusion, tilted to the side.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Instead of answering her right away, however, he, instead, leaned in and placed a faint, almost teasing kiss on her pursed lips. When he pulled back far enough so that he could properly look at her, he found her wide, deep blue gaze unblinking and her mouth frozen in its former position, and he couldn't help but wonder what he had looked like the day before in the store when he realized she had kissed his neck.

Despite the fact that no one else was around them, he confidentially whispered, "sorry about that… about not giving you any warning, but your friend, Mrs. Northam, she's been watching me all morning with a pair of binoculars out her kitchen window." When she went to turn around, he reached out, sliding a large, dirty palm against her smooth cheek, his fingers fanning out to brush against her neck and whisper against her hairline, to stop her. 

"Don't look," he explained his actions. "We don't want to tip her off that we know she's there, because, if we do, then she'll have reason to doubt the sincerity of our actions."

"How did you…" Elizabeth paused, rethought her question, and then smirked. "Never mind. Of course _you _would be aware of the fact that someone was watching the house. After all, you can take the boy out of the mob, but you can't take the mob out of the boy."

Dropping his hand from her face but not relinquishing his hold on her, Jason twined their fingers together, pulling her towards the groceries awaiting them in the SUV. "Boy? Be careful, Webber," he playfully warned her. "Those are fighting words."

"And what exactly are you going to do about it? I mean, surely you wouldn't hurt _your wife._"

Without responding, he opened the back hatch of their vehicle, letting go of her hand to reach inside and tug forward and into his arms a few bags. "How did everything go at the store?"

"Oh, you know," she remarked casually, shrugging. "They threw a few stones in my direction and tried to chase me off the premises, but I'm small and quick and got past them." His glare had her rolling her eyes. "They were cold at first, obviously remembering me fondly, but, after I apologized, made up some inane explanation about being newlyweds, and tipped the stock boy who was responsible for putting all our goods back away yesterday twenty bucks, it was all good. I even got a smile and a 'have a nice day' from the cashier who waited on me as I left."

As they approached the house together, side by side, he asked, "so they didn't suspect…?"

"Not a thing," Elizabeth reassured him. "I got the feeling that, while not a common occurrence, it isn't completely unheard of for a customer to simply walk out of the store, leaving their heaping cart behind, except, normally, it's probably some teenager pulling a childish prank."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, the two of them both loudly dropping their bags onto the otherwise bare kitchen table. "Speaking from experience?"

"What," the brunette sputtered, rocking back slightly from the accusation. Recovering quickly, she denied, "please. A prank like that is for amateurs. I was more into the two D's – destruction by decoration. When I still lived in Colorado, I'd sneak out at night and terrorize my neighbors by painting large murals on their otherwise pristinely paved driveways. What about you? How did you rebel… well, after you know… the accident?"

Going back outside, he considered her question but wasn't sure how to answer it. Finally, he responded, "I guess, looking back, I did things that could be considered rebelling, like destroying my room at the Quartermaines, train surfer, and riding my bike into the family den, but, at the time, it wasn't a conscious rebellion. I was just reacting."

She was silent for several beats as they each grabbed a second load of groceries, but, finally, she replied. "I've never been on a motorcycle before. They've always kind of scared me but more in a forbidden and less in a frightening way, if that makes any sense." He nodded as they continued to work, words unnecessary. "So, anyway," the twenty-two year old changed the subject while, at the same time, trying to banish the melancholy that had settled into her voice. "You still haven't told me why you're tearing up the lawn."  


"I'm making you flower beds."

While she paused just inside the kitchen, Jason continued on his way to the table, putting his own bags down before turning around and taking the ones in her arms as well. Shaking her head to clear away the fog, she slowly demanded, "would you care to run that by me one more time?" Repeating his words in the form of a question, she inquired, "_you're_ making _me _flower beds?"

"Well, Ellis," the onetime enforcer corrected. "She's supposed to like flowers, right, and, as her, you work in a flower shop. I thought it made sense, I had nothing better to do, and I guess," he admitted, roughly palming the side of his stumbled face as he looked away from her, "it's my way of saying thank you… for yesterday."

"You already thanked me for that, Jason."

"Yeah, well…"

"And you're welcome," the stubborn brunette continued, ignoring his interruption. "Thank you for the flower beds."

"They're not done yet," he told her quickly, wondering why he felt such a need to explain his actions. "I still have some more digging to do, and, when I'm done, I'm going to edge them with red bricks. I saw a diagram of a similar garden in a book once, and it didn't look bad. Plus, the bricks will help separate the flowers from the yard, so it'll make it easier for me to mow." He knew he was rambling, he knew that he was probably telling her things she didn't want or need to know, but, for some odd reason, he couldn't stop. "I know that it's pretty late in the season to be planting flowers, but…"

"No, it's good," Elizabeth surprised him by agreeing. "Besides, if nothing else, it'll give me something to do on my days off. Almost all of the boxes are now unpacked, and it gets kind of lonely around here when I'm by myself." He wanted to talk to her about that, offer her some reassurances, perhaps, that, with time, things would get better for them in Dovetree, but she never gave him a chance. Pushing forward, she instructed, "why don't you go back outside and get all your stuff cleaned up while I put away the groceries. When you're done, we'll have some lunch. I picked up some sandwiches for us while I was out, and, then, afterwards, I thought we could watch a movie."

"Really? You mean… together?"

Apparently, it was the former college student's turn to ramble. "Well, it makes sense that we should. I mean, since I told Evelyn that Jack and Ellis' _relationship _is based upon Meet Joe Black, don't you think you should have at least seen the movie once? Plus, it's been a while since I've seen it, and it's one of my favorites, and it's not like either of us has anything better to do. You can continue working in your flower beds tomorrow…"

"Your flower beds," he corrected her, making the brunette smirk. "But, alright, I'll watch it with you."

"Good," her smirk progressed into a real smile. "Now, go outside," Elizabeth instructed him. Just as he was almost clear of the kitchen, she called out, her voice slightly raised, "and put a shirt on already, would you?"

Leaving her alone, he didn't want to think about why her last request bothered him so much.

**XVI.**

"Are you crying?"

"What," Elizabeth snapped, standing up quickly from the couch she had been sharing with Jason. While she had commandeered the right side so that she could sit in the late afternoon sun shining through the window, he had taken the far left side, leaving an appropriate and safe amount of distance between them. But the movie was over, she was pacing, and he was asking a question she didn't want to answer. So, in an effort to deflect, she feigned bravado. Unfortunately, the blonde didn't buy it.

"I asked you if you were crying."

"Of course not." Without glancing in his direction, she busied herself with removing the DVD from the player and turning off the electronic equipment. If she kept her back to him so he couldn't see her face and if she managed to school the tone of her voice, she'd be able to smoothly lie her way out of his inquiry and dodge his inevitable mocking. "It's August, and you were outside turning up the grass, and there's all the pollen in the air. My allergies are acting up."

The retired enforcer remained quiet, so she risked a glance in his direction and found him contemplating her response. Finally, he remarked, "I don't remember you having allergies before."

"What are you, an elephant?" Scoffing, Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You barely knew me before, Morgan, and, besides, I'm sure even you forget things sometimes."

"No, I don't," he countered, standing up and stalking towards her. Once they were standing toe to toe, his taller frame towering over her own petite one, he pressed. "Not when it's important. And, for the record, what does being an elephant have to do with you crying?"

She couldn't help it. Her fake anger disappeared in the face of his confusion, and she collapsed onto the chair behind her. "Do you know how hard it is to fight with someone who has absolutely no knowledge of pop culture?" He stared back her, blank faced, and, in that moment, even her irritation with him for catching her during a minute of emotional weakness disappeared… not that she was going to admit anything anytime soon though. "And I wasn't crying either."

"Well, good, because that's a stupid movie to cry over."

"It is not," she argued, shooting invisible daggers at him once again. "It's romantic."

"And I'm nothing like that guy," Jason continued as if she hadn't even said anything. "And, for that matter, you're nothing like the girl either."

"I never said they were our fictional twins," the onetime artist defended herself. "We needed a plausible first meeting, and this was the first thing I came up with off the top of my head, and it's just innocent enough to be believable. We could have met in a diner one random morning. That's the type of thing that could happen to any normal couple. And, besides," she accused, standing up and leveling him with a challenging smirk, "I don't remember you 

coming up with anything better. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, you just sat there, slack jawed at the question. It was me, just your average, run of the mill twenty-two year old who came up with our cover story, not you Mr. Mafia Ingénue. So, excuse the hell out of me for thinking on my feet. If I would have known your male ego was so sensitive, I would have thought of something a little more testosterone driven for you. But I didn't. Sue me."

Running a distracted hand through her hair, Elizabeth pressed on, barely pausing long enough to breathe in between her accusatory statements. "I mean, what? Did you want me to tell sweet, little, old Evelyn that we actually met on your former boss' private island, that you came up behind me, assaulting me, because you thought I was some in disguise high priced hired assassin out to gun down some two-bit gangster? For some reason, and maybe it's just me, but I don't think that would have gone over well, do you? And for the record, you're not that dissimilar from Joe. You're both quiet and centered, charming in your own backwards way, and too good looking for your own damn good. And I do, too, have things in common with Susan. We're both the younger sibling, and, and…"

"Are you done yet?"

She contemplated his question, pouting slightly. "I don't know."

"Well, you might want to wrap this up soon, because we're supposed to be at Tom and Amanda's in less than an hour's time."

She knew he was right, that they had forgotten about their dinner plans and had gotten lost in both the movie and their stupid, petty argument, but the twenty-two year old couldn't help but glance at the clock on the DVD player. Seeing that he was right, that, if they didn't rush, they were going to be late, her eyes became wide with alarm. Without wasting a word on the grinning man before her, Elizabeth pushed past him and sprinted up the stairs.

Never before had she thrown together an outfit that was supposed to say so much so quickly. While she wanted to appear casual and relaxed in front of _her husband's_ boss and his wife, she also felt it was important that she looked mature and respectable but, still, at the same time youthful as well. It was almost as if her hands automatically reached out for the outfit she ended up choosing, and, as she rushed about the master bedroom, grabbing shoes and various accessories, she wasn't surprised that she ended up with a favorite emerald green sundress, a simple white cardigan incase she got cold later that evening, and her oldest, most comfortable pair of ballet flats. So, armed and ready to shower and get dressed, she hastily opened the bathroom door only to run into a sturdy warm wall of bare human flesh, something that was normally not in her bathroom.

Jason.

"Whoa, easy there," he steadied her, his hands gripping her shoulders to prevent her from swaying and perhaps even falling from the impact. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she returned, pulling free from his embrace. "Why are you in my bathroom?"

"I use it, too," he squabbled, not unkindly. "And I stink."

The brunette grinned cheekily. "Well, not that I was going to say anything, but you do have a point."  


"Yeah, right, Webber," Jason challenged. "You'd be the first one to tell me I stunk."

"Perhaps," she admitted, playing coy. "But that still doesn't tell me what you're doing here in the bathroom while I'm trying to get ready."

"What does it look like I'm doing," he gestured towards his partially exposed form, his shirt off and tossed aside onto the floor, his boots and socks toed off by the door that led to the upstairs hallway, his pants already unsnapped. "You didn't think that I wasn't going to shower, did you?"

"But I need to wash my hair!"

"Elizabeth," he sighed in frustration, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose but she batted his hand away.

"Don't Elizabeth me," the former painter scolded him. "I'm not going to embarrass myself tonight just so that you can smell good. Besides, your boss is probably used to you smelling like sweat and grime."

"Your hair looks fine."

"Exactly," she astonished the blonde standing across from her by momentarily agreeing with him. "My hair is fine; it's feeling inadequate and needing encouragement. So, if you could just show yourself out, I'll get in the shower."

"No."

"Come on, Jason," she whined, stomping her foot. "Can't you just go downstairs, splash some water onto yourself from the sink in the half bath, brush your teeth, and drown yourself in a bottle of cologne. Men do it all the time."

His only response was to fold his arms across his naked chest, widening his stance as if he was preparing himself for attack.

"Alright, you win," she complained, narrowing her gaze. "How about a compromise?"

"I'm listening."

"If you let me shower first, I'll hurry, giving you plenty of time to shower after me. I'll just dry shave my legs in my room while you're using the bathroom."

He nodded once, evidently his way of showing her that he approved with her suggestion, and then turned his back towards her, but, when he didn't leave the bathroom, when he just, instead, planted himself in front of the double sink and started getting out his shaving supplies, Elizabeth felt at a loss for words. At last, she settled with asking, "uh… what are you still doing in here? I thought you said I could shower?"

"Knock yourself out," the retired hitman instructed her. "And don't worry. I won't watch."

She was going to retort, she was going to wage another battle of words with him, she was going to attempt to toss him out of the bathroom, but she knew she would fail, and, to make matters worse, they really did not have time for _another _petty quarrel. Why the two 

of them, despite the fact that they were now, relatively, getting along, could not be in the same room with one another without bickering or purposely trying to bait the other, she didn't know. It felt as if she was seven years old again out on the playground during recess, kicking Brad Summers in the knee every time he dared to pull her pigtails… and he dared quite often.

As she slipped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut before she started to strip off her clothes, she admitted to herself that their behavior meant something, but what it meant, well, she really didn't want to think about that. Instead, she'd just continue quarrelling with the infuriatingly impossible man and hope that he didn't stop returning her biting banter long enough to contemplate the reasoning behind it himself.

Astonishingly, they worked well together. Like he promised, despite sharing the bathroom with one another as they got ready for their dinner plans, Jason was respectful, never once glancing in her direction unless he cleared the action with her first. She showered; he shaved. She shaved; he showered. When she was ready to get dressed, she went back into the bedroom, allowing him the same privacy in the attached ensuite. When she needed help fastening her necklace, he was there behind her, wordlessly working the delicate clasp with his long, blunt fingers. They even managed to brush their teeth together, side by side, without awkwardness or discomfort. And, forty minutes after they finally settled on sharing the bathroom, they pulled out of their driveway, clean, dressed, and ready to perform.

**XVII.**

"How do I look?"

"Nice," Jason answered simply, making the petite brunette beside him bristle and grind her teeth. He was such a man sometimes.

"And what about my hair," she asked, reaching up to delicately brush one hand against the messy updo. They were approaching the front door of the Patterson's house, and she was, all of a sudden, nervous. She had never enjoyed meeting new people under such formal circumstances. Instead, the twenty-two year old preferred natural, organic meetings where things weren't forced or contrived. "It's not falling down or anything, is it?"

"Nope."

Apparently, _her husband _was sticking to the one word answers that evening, but that was okay. She wasn't going to let it upset her, she wasn't going to allow it to grate on her nerves, and she was going to use it to her advantage. "What about my teeth," she stopped him from continuing on their way, reaching out to grab his arm and hold him back. Opening her mouth, she bared her teeth for him, making the older man twist his face up in amusement. But then his laughter disappeared only to be replaced by a look of revulsion, and Elizabeth immediately started to worry.

He grimaced. "What did you do, bite your tongue?"

"What do you mean," she panicked, reaching up to wipe frantically at her teeth.

"They're red."

"Huh?"

"Your teeth," Jason clarified, opening his mouth to vaguely gesture at his own. Sincerely, he explained, "I think you have some lipstick…"

Grumbling under her breath, the college graduate made quick work of wiping the stain away. "Why couldn't you just say so in the first place?"

"It was more fun to make you squirm," he admitted, causing her to freeze when he tenderly reached out to brush his right thumb against the corner of her mouth, ostensibly, she could only assume since he didn't bother to explain himself, to clean away a smear of her makeup. "Are you ready now," he teased her after dropping his hand back to his side. "Are you out of stall tactics yet?"

"Just shut up and lead the way."

Obliging her, he laughed, twining their fingers together as they, once again, resumed their trek towards the front door of his boss' house. They didn't even have a chance to ring the doorbell before there were two smiling, loud individuals greeting them, the woman definitely overpowering her much more docile husband.

"I'm so glad you agreed to join us for dinner," Amanda Patterson, or at least the woman Elizabeth assumed to be Amanda Patterson, warmly declared upon seeing them. "Ever since you clammed up tighter than a Soviet spy when Betsy tried to interrogate you at the softball game a few days ago, I knew I'd like you." The petite blonde before her, an obvious mother hen from just the sound of her voice and the haphazardly worn apron around her still slender waist, seemed to waver for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, until she threw caution to the wind and took the former artist into her arms for a friendly hug. "It's wonderful to meet you," she confided before moving on to a silent and still Jason. "Come here, you," the middle aged wife and mother urged _her husband_, motioning for him to bend down far enough so that she could embrace him as well.

"You might as well do as she says," Tom spoke up for the first time, chuckling softly at his spouse's antics while, in the same breath, talking to his young employee, "because she's not going to take no for an answer. Trust me, I would know."

"Oh, hush up, you." Elizabeth had to stifle a giggle when she watched the homemaker briefly turn around and pinch her husband's arm. "They're going to think that I treat you badly or something. Now," she practically demanded, lifting a brow in silent challenge towards the tall, tanned man before her. "You were about to give me my hug."

Jason relented, awkwardly indulging the older woman's whims, but it was obvious that he wasn't comfortable in doing so. As they separated, Amanda commented good-naturedly, "I promise I won't make you hug me again for the rest of the evening. Now, Tom," she demanded pertly. "Let's get the introductions started before I burn dinner."

"Of course," he consented without delay. Jack and Ellis Martin, this is my lovely, if not impatient, wife, Amanda." His little teasing remark earned him an elbow to the ribs, but he just grinned and continued. "Amanda, this," he presented the younger couple standing before him, "is Jack and Ellis. There. I think that should cover it. Who wants a beer?"

It happened before she knew what was going on. One minute, she was standing on the front doorstep of the Pattersons', lifelong Dovetree residents, and, the next thing she knew, she was back in the past, an awkward nineteen year old again, fairly bursting with energy and nerves.  


_"Would you calm down already, Liz," her best friend and, in his own way, mentor implored her. Although his words were less than sympathetic, his famous dimples gave away the fact that he wasn't annoyed with her, just probably worried. After all, he was always anxious on her behalf, protecting her like the little sister he didn't have but claimed to have always had wanted. "If you don't, you'll make yourself sick, and, then, you won't be able to eat your dinner. I won't stand for that. You're already too thin as it is."_

_"Sonny, I can't help it. Do you realize how long it's been since I've seen Steven?"_

_He patted her shoulder affectionately, distractedly as he busied himself around his state of the art kitchen. Always the showoff, the don had truly out done even himself that evening by cooking what was sure to be a gourmet meal. "It's been years. I know. And I also know that you're tense because you're introducing him to me tonight, but I promise," he teased her with a crooked smile. "I'll be on my best behavior."_

_"Is there even such a thing?"_

_"Hey there," he warned her, tossing a baby carrot in her direction and making Elizabeth squeal. "Watch it."_

_"Maybe you should take your own advice, Corinthos, and not start something you can't finish. I'd so kick your ass in a food fight."_

_"Yes, you would," her friend agreed with her, "because you would play dirty. And watch your mouth," he added as a side note, but she was used to Sonny chastising her. The crime lord was always harping on her about being a lady, not that she ever heeded his advice._

_She ignored his directive and went back to their previous topic. "But I'm small," the pretty brunette excused, smirking. "I have to play dirty in order to get an actual advantage, to compensate for my lacking size."_

_"More like lacking ethics. I swear, Webber, you were raised by wolves."_

_"Pretty much," she immediately concurred with a wry grin on her otherwise deceivingly cherubic face. But the amusement vanished almost as quickly as it appeared as worry settled low in her stomach once again._

_"Quit that," the Hispanic man chided her, shooting a pointed glare in her direction as he continued to stir the sauce he was making. "You have drilled me on your brother for the past week. I know everything there is to know about Steven Webber. I know his favorite foods, I know his favorite sports teams, what kind of liquor he drinks, and I know what his hobbies are. Hell, Elizabeth, you've even told me about his dating history… not that I particularly cared to know that information, but you were quite adamant."_

_"I was thorough."_

_"Or paranoid," the older man mumbled under his breath, unconsciously inviting the brunette's irritated glare, but, before she could say anything in cynical retort, the doorbell to the penthouse rang, and she instantaneously shot up and out of her seat. "Don't run," Sonny called after her, his chuckling sounding out softly in the marbled room, but she didn't listen to that command either. He was used to her noncompliance though._

_Sliding across the floor, she haphazardly threw the door open, a huge, goofy grin on her exuberant face. Tears were already coursing their way down her face. "Hey there, kiddo," Steven greeted her, dropping his bags and instantly pulling her into a bone crushing hug. "Look at you," he whispered softly, keeping the moment between the reunited siblings private and personal, "so beautiful and so mature but still my little sister."_

_"And look at you," she returned, "all out of shape and old." The words were barely out of her mouth before he was tickling her, his actions eliciting peals of laughter from the college student, but their moment was interrupted by Sonny joining them in the living room, and they pulled apart._

_Composed, once again, Elizabeth turned towards her friend. "Sonny, I'd like you to meet my big brother, Steven. Steven, this is the man I've been telling you so much about."_

_The two men immediately shook hands, greetings and polite conversation flowing forth between them. As if they forgot that she was still standing there, they moved into the kitchen together, already talking like old friends, and the nineteen year old was left there, staring after them with a whimsical, grateful smile curling her full lips. Finally, after more than a year, the two most important people in her life had met each other._

"Give the girl some room to breathe," Amanda ordered, shooing the two men out of her way. "Go take Jack out to the garage, Tom," she instructed her husband. "Show him your pride and joy, and leave Elizabeth and I alone for a few minutes."

"But…"

"No buts, young man," the middle aged woman argued, immediately shutting _her husband _down. As the former artist met his gaze, she could see just how worried he was for her. To reassure him, she offered Jason a tremulous smile, and he seemed to accept it, because he hesitantly backed away with his boss. "I've never seen anything like that," the kind, gray eyed wife and mother exclaimed, wrapping her right arm around her younger counterpart's waist as she guided her inside and towards the kitchen. "One minute you were with us, and, the next, it was like you were in a completely different world. What happened back there?"

"I just felt a little dizzy," Elizabeth offered, not capable of meeting Amanda's gaze as she lied to her. "I think it's the heat. It sometimes affects me like that. I'm sorry, though. I didn't mean to scare you, and I certainly had no intentions of ruining your evening."

"Does it look like my evening is ruined," the blonde demanded, fisting her hands on her narrow hips. "In fact," she offered, continuing without giving her new friend a chance to answer. "You did us a favor by getting rid of those two lug heads. Now we can have some girl talk."

"About what?"

"Oh, don't act all innocent with me, young lady," her host chided. "News has already spread all over this town about your little excursion last night at the grocery store with Jack." Smiling conspiratorially, she urged her, "you can tell me, you know. Unlike most of the women in this town, I can keep a secret."

If Elizabeth hadn't been dizzy before, she sure felt so while Amanda stood drilling her. She had no idea how to respond to the older woman's encouragement or her interest. "I don't… I don't know what you're talking about."  


"Sure you do," the wife and mother dismissed with a quick wave of her hand. "You're pregnant, aren't you," she surmised, grinning widely. "And you told Jack the news last night while the two of you were standing in the baby supplies aisle." Amanda sighed softly, wistfully. "It all sounds so romantic."

"I'm not pregnant," the college graduate insisted, standing up so rapidly from her chair she nearly knocked it over. "And, if I was, I certainly wouldn't tell _my husband_ the news in the middle of a crowded grocery store."

"Oh," the blonde sighed, sounding beyond disappointed. "But are you sure," she persisted, perking up slightly. "I mean, that would explain your dizziness just now."

"Trust me, I think I would know if I was going to have a baby or not."

"You'd be surprised," her host snorted, seemingly getting lost in a recollection. "A few years back now, there was this local woman who didn't realize she was pregnant until she went into the emergency room and presented to the doctor with severe back pain, but, now that I think about it, she was also in her late forties and more masculine than Tom and Jack combined."

Feeling thankful that her new friend had apparently dropped the 'Ellis is pregnant' topic, Elizabeth laughed. "That's disgusting. I'm not sure if I even want to eat dinner now."

"You will as soon as you see the feast I've prepared us for this evening."

"It does smell good," the younger woman admitted, catching an aromatic whiff of whatever was simmering away in the oven. "And it's definitely been a while since I had a home cooked meal, but, still, you shouldn't have gone through all the trouble."

"Nonsense, I cook like this all the time. With the kids all out of the house, I get bored during the day, so I cook to try and entice them to come over for dinner in the evenings. It's a futile gesture more often than not, but, at least, it keeps me busy. I take it you don't cook?"

"Not at all."

"Well, you're more than welcome to drop in anytime, and I could give you some quick and easy lessons."

"Really," the brunette asked, astonished by the older woman's generosity.

"It'd be fun," Amanda insisted, nodding for her guest to grab a pile of dishes as the two of them made their way into the dining room together to set the table. "And, while we worked, we could get to know one another better." Elizabeth was just about to accept when the wife and mother changed the subject on her. "So, if you're not pregnant, than you and Jack must have decided to try, right? That's what happened in the grocery store last night?"

"Yeah," she agreed tonelessly. She could feel her walls going up even as she fought the sudden urge to hide and emotionally withdraw. At the same time, though, if word got around that she and _her husband _were trying for a baby and that's what had spooked Jason in the store, then that would only serve to protect their cover, so, despite her better judgment, she went with the story. "You figured us out, Amanda."

The older woman who, Elizabeth had to admit, she liked, despite her obvious penchant for all things babies related, prattled on as they set the table together, but she didn't really listen to anything she had to say. While she replied in the proper manner, agreeing or disagreeing when necessary, her mind was elsewhere, distracted, both lost in a past that was no more and a future that never would be. It wasn't a pleasant state of mind.

**XVIII.**

As soon as Jason stepped foot in his boss' custom garage, he realized what not only his prize possession was but also his favorite hobby: his race car, and he was thankful for the distraction. Worried about Elizabeth and whatever was bothering her, be it something physical or, more likely, something from her own psyche, he needed the peace and quiet that soon enveloped the two men as they lost themselves working underneath the hood of the supped up car; he needed the excuse of keeping his hands busy while his brain was otherwise occupied thinking about _his wife_.

Luckily, his host seemed to savor the silence as well, and they worked companionably together, only breaking the stillness with a request for a tool or a grunt of appreciation when something happened they approved of. With such a boisterous wife like Amanda, he wasn't surprised that his employer had his own private retreat away from the house. Unfortunately, however, Tom eventually felt the need to talk, but, at least, he stuck with the topic at hand and didn't delve into his personal life… unlike, Jason suspected, his wife and how she was, no doubt, grilling Elizabeth.

"You know your way around a car."

The blonde shrugged indifferently. "Taught myself," he answered. "I got sick of having to have other people service my vehicles when I knew, if I just learned how to do it, I could do it better than they did. So, I bought some books and just had at it."

"Just like that," Tom asked, snapping his fingers to signal the speed at which he garnered his younger counterpart took up the skill. "You never toyed around out in the garage with your old man when you were younger?"

Although he had no memories of _his father_, he knew that story was not one to tell the balding man beside him, so he interpreted the past he had been told over the years and tweaked it to fit the inquiry. "Dad was a doctor who had a butler that arranged for all the family vehicles to be taken care of. I doubt he ever got grease under his nails even once."

"Well, you seem to be nothing like him."

"Not really."

"So, then, you must be a natural," the business owner suggested. "Books can't teach you all that you know. Sure, they can teach you a lot, but you're good."

"Thanks," Jason offered, unsure of how to take the praise or where the older man was going with his observations.

"In fact, I wouldn't mind having a guy like you on my pit crew… if you're interested," Tom offered. "At this point and at my age, I basically just race for fun, but there are still a few competitive bones in my old body. With a young kid like you on my team, I might be able to give some of the other guys a real run for their money. Ellis could come as well. Mandy 

never misses a race. She sits up in the stands, yelling and screaming at the top of her lungs. She's my own personal cheering section, and I'm sure she'd more than welcome another woman into our little entourage. They could help keep each other company."

It would be over his dead body if he allowed Elizabeth to hang out at a crowded, busy racetrack, especially if he wasn't glued to her side. The venue would be the perfect opportunity for someone to grab her or, worse yet, get a few shots off at her before disappearing into the melee of the mass of fans scurrying about. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Tom that.

"I'll think about," the retired enforcer said instead, receiving a hopeful grin from his boss.

"Alright, now, you two," Amanda's voice interrupted what was sure to be another pitch from her husband. "Enough guy time. It's time to eat. Dinner's on the table, cooling as we speak."

The elderly couple went ahead, walking into the house together, yammering away, about what, Jason didn't really care. Instead, he was too focused upon _his wife_. She seemed even more reserved than she had been when he had gone out to the garage a half an hour before. It only intensified his concern for her. "Hey," he greeted her casually as they strolled behind their hosts, several paces back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just super."

There was a frigid note to her voice, and the blonde immediately sighed in aggravation. "Elizabeth…"

"Don't," she snapped, glaring at him. "Just drop it, _Jack_. This is neither the time nor the place for us to have a real conversation. After all, we're not only happily married newlyweds, but, apparently, according to the rest of his goddamned town, we're also trying for a baby, too." He visibly blanched. "Buck up, _husband_," the petite woman beside him demanded, squaring her shoulders and plastering a fake smile on her face as they entered the Pattersons' house. "You keep looking that pale, and they're going to think you're incapable of knocking me up."

Before she could enter the dining room where Tom and Amanda were already waiting for them, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him. "What in the hell is going on?"

"We'll talk about it later," the former painter stated.

Turning on her heel, she disappeared from sight, leaving Jason alone with his mind spinning. The first thing he realized was that Elizabeth was certainly not alright. She was cool and indifferent, treating him just as she had when they first moved to Dovetree, but, whether it was because of whatever was bothering her from when they first arrived, the fact that the local gossip had them trying for a family, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he also recognized that, although she may have told him they would talk later, _his wife _had no intentions of living up to that promise. But he wasn't going to allow her to pull away from him again. They, as a couple and as two individuals depending upon one another to survive, couldn't handle that again, and he, as a man, couldn't handle it either.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

**XIX.**

A week had passed since their disastrous dinner party with Tom and Amanda – a week of stilted silences, awkwardness, and, for Jason, pure torture, and the worst part was that he saw no end to the rift separating him from Elizabeth in their near future. They were back to how they originally had been after arriving in Dovetree. He worked, she worked, and they avoided each other the rest of the time. Only, this time, it was worse, because, now, he knew what it was like to make progress with Elizabeth, to actually be able to have a conversation with her and share a laugh. Their regression made him feel as if he had failed something – her, himself, or a combination of the two, and, if there was anything Jason Morgan hated to do, it was fail. But the past week had taught him something. It taught him that there was nothing more dangerous than an angry woman, and anger didn't even scratch the surface of what the twenty-two year old he lived with was going through, was feeling.

In all his years as Sonny Corinthos' enforcer, he had managed survive more attacks on his life than he cared to recall. He had faced down the meanest drunks in the most despicable of bars, he had come out on top of more than his fair share of back alley knife fights, and he had been the quickest on the draw and possessed the more accurate aim dozens of times during a shootout. He had defeated drug lords and kingpins, coked out dealers and vengeful pimps, unforeseen adversaries and sworn enemies. There was a reason why he had been considered the best before… in the past, but he had no idea how to fight back against _his wife_.

She froze him out, gave him the cold shoulder, and, no matter what he tried to do or say, she wouldn't budge or give an inch. But he also knew that Elizabeth's animosity didn't stem from their less than perfect past with one another. Besides whatever was haunting her from her former life in Port Charles, something had also set her off a week before. Even though she had been upset when he went out to the garage with Tom, she hadn't been mad at that point. Instead, she projected an aura of deep hurt and remorse, but, thirty minutes later, when the four of them went inside to have dinner, she was anything but the delicate, injured woman he had felt a strange urge to wrap up in his arms and comfort, and, instead, she had become the livid firecracker he had been living with for the past seven days, a person whose fury was barely concealed under the surface.

At first, he had wanted to help her, to be that crying shoulder or that listening ear that she could turn to, that person she could confess what was bothering her to, that person she allowed to support her, but that impulse had quickly faded until the point where, as he pulled into the driveway that Friday evening, exhausted, dirty, and ready for anything but a long overdue confrontation with the woman he lived with, he just wanted to be left alone for a few hours. At that point, he figured that Elizabeth would either eventually work her own way through her anger, or she wouldn't. It was obvious that she wouldn't allow him to be there for her, and he was sick and tired of putting himself out there only to be cruelly rebuffed or rudely dismissed. However, it quickly became apparent that _his wife _had other ideas.

She had been out in the yard when he pulled up, working in the new flowerbeds he had just finished the night before. He had assumed that she would either ignore his arrival completely or glance in his direction before turning back to the task at hand without a word or even a gesture of greetings. But he should have known better. After all, he had never been one to really understand women, he had never been able to predict what they would 

do next, and, compared to all the other women he had known in his life, Elizabeth Webber was the most confusing one of all. She could tie him up in knots or string him tighter than a bow before he would even realize what was happening, and, for a man who was renowned for his rather impossible level of self-control, what she could do to him with minimal effort was astounding – slightly alarming but definitely astounding.

Before he could even take the keys out of the engine, the beautiful brunette had the driver's side door open, her hands immediately latching onto his arm to help pull him free of the vehicle. He allowed her to do what she wanted, willingly letting her control the situation. The less he fought with Elizabeth, Jason assumed, the quicker she would tire of whatever game they were about to play, and, then, he could go off and be by himself, but, no sooner had the thought danced across his mind, than it was replaced by a series of emotions he rarely felt: shock, relief, and pure, unadulterated joy.

She was kissing him, rather timidly, somewhat ineptly, and definitely naively, but, nevertheless, her lips were on his, her mouth was moving against his own, and everything else that had been bothering him just moments before scattered into the sticky August breeze.

Immediately, the former enforcer settled his hands on her hips, slowly pulling her, millimeter by millimeter, closer to his own body, his arms sinuously moving to wrap around her delicate, petite form. By the time he had to wrench his lips away from Elizabeth's, they were both out of breath but, apparently, unconcerned. With fluttering lashes, he opened his eyes only to find the woman in his embrace watching him, her sapphire orbs filled with fear, trepidation, but also a sense of responsiveness. And it was in that moment that Jason realized everything.

She was angry because she was scared, not of him, not of their situation, but by the expectations others had forced upon their _relationship_. Although he knew that the onetime artist had been raped, the fact a glaring source of constant resentment and pain warring inside his head at all times, when he saw Elizabeth, her rape didn't define her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, talented, intoxicatingly infuriating woman who could irritate him more than a malfunctioning gun ever could, a woman who made him laugh when no one else could even make him smile. However, he realized that it wasn't so easy for the twenty-two year old to separate who she was from the transgressions that had been acted upon her.

The reason she was so awkward around him was not because she still held a grudge against him after so many years but because he was a guy, a guy who would see her as a woman, as a sexual being, and not just Elizabeth, and, although Jason wasn't vain enough to think that she could be attracted to him, because he was posing as _her husband,_ there were certain concepts attached to that _relationship_ that she obviously wasn't comfortable or experienced with. Other people assumed that they had a healthy, active sex life with one another, and, now that the rumor was circulating that they were trying to have a baby, their personal lives were going to be under an even brighter, more intrusive microscope.

Then there was also the fact that wanting a child together, planning a family, spoke of a whole different level of intimacy than what Elizabeth was used to. As the brunette stood enveloped in his arms, he found himself wondering if she did want children someday, or, if she was still so scared of the idea of sex and truly being with a man both physically and emotionally, she couldn't even contemplate the idea of carrying a child inside of her womb for nine months, let alone actually making one. He didn't blame or even fault her for her apprehension. In fact, the retired hitman felt it was perfectly understandable, but that also didn't mean that he thought she should continue to stand on the sidelines of life, letting the 

possibilities of love and family pass her by willingly.

Obviously, sex wasn't the most important thing in the world, but Jason felt as though it was an essential part of every man and woman's growth as an individual, as an adult, and he didn't want Elizabeth Webber to miss out on something that could be unbelievably amazing simply because some animal, someone who did not deserve to call himself a man, had raped her in the park one night so many years ago. She deserved every chance life afforded her with, and that included sex, love, and a baby or two if she wanted. In that moment, he promised himself that he would do everything he could to help her get past her fears and anxiety, even if his actions did eventually drive him to the brink of insanity.

"Elizabeth," he whispered her name, the breath from his words tickling against her full, glistening lips. "Put your hands on me."

He felt her tense, but, still, he didn't withdraw the command. Instead, he waited patiently, watching her, unblinking, using his gaze in an attempt to both reassure and calm her. Eventually, she complied, lifting her trembling fingers to brush against and then settle on his t-shirt clad stomach. They hesitated, pulled away for a second, but, then, her palms settled flatly against his middle, and he noticed her body gradually relax against him as the seconds ticked by.

"Good," he encouraged her with a small, crooked smile. "Now, I want you to wrap your arms around my waist and settle your hands my hips."

Nodding, the former artist did as she was told, biting her lip nervously in the process. Once she was positioned how he wanted her to be, Jason pressed, "next, slide your fingers into the back pockets of my jeans." But, this time, she just stared up at him in doubt. Releasing her from his gentle hold, he reached behind him, covering her hands with his own. Lacing their fingers together, he slowly lowered her digits into his pockets, releasing his grasp on her only to press her hands dangerously into the muscles of his ass. She gasped in awareness, but, before she could pull away, he had already rewound his arms around her, pulling her even closer than he had been holding her the first time.

"When I kiss you," the blonde told her, speaking in a soothing murmur, "I want you to open your mouth for me."

This time she complied willingly, but her mouth only parted a slight fraction. It was just enough space, though, for Jason to dip his tongue between her lips. She stood unresponsive as he tasted her, taking his time, not forcing anything. At first, he simply teased her mouth, allowing his tongue to graze against her teeth or lick her lips, but, slowly, almost hesitantly, Elizabeth gave him more access, eventually, granting him the freedom to coil their tongues together and truly taste her own, unique, infinitely sweet and addicting palate.

Breathless and feeling oddly drugged, he finally ended their kiss, releasing Elizabeth's slightly bruised lips from his own. "Are you okay," he asked her concerned, keeping his arms wrapped securely around her. Before she could reply, though, he leaned in once again, nipping at her bottom lip.

Finally, Elizabeth answered. "I… uh… yeah." Swallowing thickly, she repeated herself, more coherently the second time. "Yes."

And he almost believed her.

Separating them, he reached for her hand, at first coaxing and then following her into the house. But as their steps made quick work of crossing the driveway, he felt the tension reenter _his wife's _body, and, almost immediately, he knew that his actions from just a moment before, while good intentioned, had been wrong. He wasn't sure if he had just rushed her or if she had been offended, but, whatever the reason, the onetime Mafioso had unintentionally made a bad situation even worse.

"I'm sorry," he apologized as soon as they were safely encased in the house together, but his words fell on deaf ears as the woman he lived with whirled around to confront him angrily.

"What the hell was that?"

"Well, after you kissed me…"

"I did that," the brunette snapped, glaring at him, "because Ms. Northam was over here today for a good hour and fifteen minutes grilling me about _our sex life_. She's always around," Elizabeth screamed, tossing her hands up in the air and appearing decidedly frustrated and flustered. "I can't get two minutes to myself to just think and relax and calm down. No matter where I turn, there's someone there, questioning me about personal things they have no business asking, and, then," she railed against him, "there's you. You go and turn something that's supposed to be safe, something that's supposed to be about Jack and Ellis, into something that's not fake, that's about you and me – Jason and Elizabeth, that's intimate. What the hell were you thinking, Jason?"

"Would you lower your voice," he implored her though not angrily because he realized where her animosity was coming from. He had confused her, stirred things inside of her that had previously never been awakened, and she was running scared, and, though he should have felt bad for upsetting her… again, he couldn't. He had a feeling that Elizabeth Webber needed to be unsettled and unsettled often before she could finally let go of the past once and for all and move on.

"You want me to be quiet," the twenty-two year old queried, never giving him a chance to reply. "Fine, have it your way."

With that, she turned on her heel and flew out of the kitchen, leaving him alone. He listened as she ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut, silence descending upon the house immediately afterwards. Suddenly, he had the very two things he had been craving when he pulled into the driveway just minutes before – peace and solitude, but, now that he had what he thought he had wanted, it didn't make him happy. Instead, he wanted Elizabeth to come back downstairs. He wanted to talk to her, share a meal with her, laugh with her, make her smile, perhaps, in his own coarse way, take away some of her pain. After just one real kiss and a huge revelation, he was back to wanting to help _his wife_, but, like always, he had no idea how to do so.

**XX.**

The last thing she wanted was to feel anything, but, being around Jason, having to pretend that she was married to him, kissing him, it seemed as if all she did, at that point, was feel too much. Numbness was good; numbness was safe, but _her husband _didn't seem satisfied in allowing her that one small pleasure. He tried to get her to talk to him, to open up about her past, and, when he quit pushing her from one angle, he found another. Now, not only was she someone's _wife,_ but everyone believed that she was about to be someone's _mother _

soon, too.

And then Jason had kissed her that afternoon. She didn't realize it until afterwards, but he hadn't been pretending as Jack. He had obviously sensed her inexperience, and, after taking pity on her, decided to… instruct her. It was demeaning, it was embarrassing, and the worst part was that she liked it. For a moment as they walked back into the house together, she had allowed herself to think that Jason had simply wanted her, had been attracted to her just as she had secretly been attracted to him for so many years. But then reality had crashed down upon her, and she recognized the sweet, beautiful kiss for what it was – sympathy.

After all, why would someone like Jason Morgan find her attractive? She was tainted, ruined at the age of eighteen before she was ever given the chance to really love and be loved by a man, and she was resigned to the fact that there were just things in life that she would never have or get to experience. And, normally, she was okay with that, but, then, there were moments, moments when she remembered that she'd never be anyone's mother, moments when she became aware of the fact that her fake marriage of convenience was the closest thing she would ever have to the real thing, moments when she as Ellis was kissing Jack, when all the regret, all the remorse would crash down upon her, and she had to wonder if she'd ever be able to pick herself back up again.

So, she got angry. Rage helped to block the pain. At least, it did until she was alone at night. It was then that she let herself truly feel, and that freedom to experience all of the emotions that she normally kept locked up safely inside her would often manifest itself into memories. Despite all her efforts not to allow her past to creep up upon her, being in Dovetree, being _married, _being with Jason brought her rape to the forefront of her mind.

She would recall everything from that life altering night as if it was happening all over again. She would feel the cold of the February air on her skin despite the balmy nature of the summer heat, pulling the blankets up to shield her vulnerable form from the memories, but the action always proved futile. She would still have to live through those terrifying moments over and over - how it felt to have a stranger's hand placed over her mouth as he drug her off the bench she was sitting on, knowing, all the while, exactly what he was planning on doing to her. After all, she wasn't naïve. She knew that women were sexually assaulted every day, but she had just blindly assumed that it would never, could never happen to her.

But it did.

It did, on Valentine's Day, in fact. She had attended her first ever sorority party that evening, but, finding it lacking or, perhaps, she was the deficient one, she had left the dance early before it really could even get started and wandered around the dark and still park, clearing her head and admiring the beauty of the night. It would prove to be the last time she would be able to do that.

Having a man force himself upon her, having a man beat her as he stole her innocence and laughed about his actions in the dark, tended to make one resent the night. But that was just one more thing that her rapist had stolen from her. And it wasn't the fact that Jason had kissed her that made her recall the most traumatic event in her life that evening; it was the fact that he had only done so because he had pitied her since she was raped that brought the memories on so strongly. Because if Jason Morgan, a man accustomed to violence and pain and heartache, couldn't forget that she was forever ruined by some faceless, nameless man in a park one winter night, no one would ever be able to look at her 

and see just another, typical woman.

And, so she cried. She cried because of the pain the memories caused her, she cried for the guilt she felt, the remorse, the frustration, and she cried for all the things she had lost already because of her rape and for all the things she would lose in the future.

"Elizabeth?"

Hearing Jason's soft, concerned voice outside in the hallway, respectfully keeping the door closed between them even though a part of her wanted him to break it down and enter despite the fact that she would never ask him to do such a thing or grant him the permission he would need first before doing so, she froze. While the tears continued to make their way down her already blotchy and red face, her sobs immediately quieted. But he didn't go away.

"Are you… what happened?"

And, just like that, the thin thread of control she was maintaining snapped. The words Jason spoke were the very same four words she had promised herself no one would ever utter in her presence again, and they immediately threw her down into an abyss of screaming, red hot pain.

_"Are you… what happened?"_

_She had been prepared to die. After her attacker had finished with her, unceremoniously removing himself from inside of her, standing up to refasten his pants, and walking off without a backwards glance while whistling a jaunty little tune, she had remained behind the bushes, hoping for, waiting for, praying for the never-ending oblivion of death. But it had evaded her. Instead, the only salvation fate seemed prepared to offer her was privacy… that was until the man, asking those four impossible to answer words, had come along, but she didn't tense at his intrusion upon her solitude. At that point, Elizabeth was unsure if she could feel anything ever again._

_So, she ignored him, refusing to answer his questions. Though her body was disgustingly soiled and on full display for the stranger, she didn't move to cover herself. Though the evidence of her rapist lay smeared on her bloodied and bruised legs, she didn't attempt to wipe the animal's seed away. And, though the man before her was calling for help, demanding his companion get a hold of their private doctor while he arranged or the limo to take them someplace safe, she didn't bother to protest or argue with his generosity. If he wanted to help her, she'd let him think that he could, but, at that point, the eighteen year old college student highly doubted anyone or anything would ever truly be able to help her._

_Oh, she knew that she'd go on living for some time. In fact, the cruel bitch that fate was, she'd probably live to be one hundred and two, but she would just be physically existing. Emotionally, her heart and her soul had already withered up, splintered apart, and crumbled into pieces. She was no longer Elizabeth Webber – art student, forgotten daughter, sister. Instead, she was Elizabeth Webber – rape survivor, and, in that moment, as she felt the stranger's suit jacket fall down to cover her exposed form, she found herself doubting her ability to meld those two very separate identities into one functioning woman._

Four years later, she was still struggling with that very challenge… and failing miserably.

**XXI.**

He knew that Elizabeth wasn't sleeping. Despite the fact that she had refused to tell him whether or not she was alright, he knew that she was crying, that she was undoubtedly reliving the events of her rape, and he also knew that he was the bastard who had made her go back there to that dark place that evening, to a place he only wanted to help her heal from. He wasn't inexperienced enough to believe that Elizabeth would ever truly be able to forget about the night of her attack, but he did hope that, with his help or not, she'd eventually put it firmly in the past where it belonged and that she'd realize that she wasn't defined by her rape but, instead, that she had the ability to define it and move on.

However, even if she wasn't going to allow him to be there for her that night, he'd still try to be even without her acceptance. So, he lowered himself to the floor outside her bedroom, leaning back against the door as he listened to the silence of the house and imagined her crying alone in bed. Although he knew that he wouldn't be getting any sleep that evening, Jason didn't mind, and, as a former enforcer, he certainly had the training and the discipline to stay awake without rest. The exhaustion he had been feeling earlier that day had long since disappeared to be replaced with worry and concern, but, even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, knowing that _his wife _was miserable because of something he had done to her.

But, he couldn't take back his actions… even if he wanted to. Looking back accomplished nothing. He and Elizabeth were both proof of that enough, so, instead of obsessing over something he couldn't change, something he couldn't make better, the blonde found his thoughts drifting to a more reflective place. In a marriage, a couple, ostensibly, one would think, would feel the most comfortable with each other in the bedroom they shared. It would be their sanctuary, their place of privacy, of retreat, the place where they let their guards down and bared themselves, physically and emotionally, to one another, but not in _his marriage_.

No, the bedroom was a place forbidden to him. It was Elizabeth's place to hide from Jason, and, he assumed, her only place where she actually let her self-protective walls down. But he wanted to share their bedroom with her. While he could admit that he was quite attracted to her, it was more than simply wanting to sleep with the onetime painter that made him want to share the space with her. Rather, he wanted to finally come to a place in their _relationship_… whatever it may be… where they could be completely honest and open with one another. He wanted the brunette's friendship, her trust, and, in return, he wanted to give those same things back to her.

However, it was becoming abundantly clear that Elizabeth would never make the first move to meet him in the middle. He was going to have to compel her to trust him by, first, opening up to her. Talking about his feelings, about his deeper, more personal thoughts, was not something Jason Morgan was good at. In fact, he was terrible at emotional intimacy, but, for the first time in his life, he was ready to at least try. They would have to start small, perhaps building up to the more important issues, but, no matter what, he was determined to give a piece of himself to Elizabeth Webber… even if she didn't want it. And he was going to start the very next afternoon.

**XXII.**

For the first time since the words baby and pregnant were mentioned more than a week before, Elizabeth felt relaxed - almost happy – and, surprisingly, it was because of something Jason had done for her. After having disappeared early that morning, he had 

returned right at lunch time with a four wheeler. She had been in the back yard refinishing a piece of furniture. According to Houston, Ellis Martin enjoyed antiquing, so, to go along with her profile, she had picked up an end table that week, done some research online about refinishing, and had set about attempting to implement what she had learned into actually stripping, sanding, and staining a real piece of furniture. It was labor intensive work, something she could take her frustration out upon, but it had been nothing like the release _her husband _had offered her instead.

Without waiting for her to say yes or no, Jason had literally picked her up from the ground, deposited her onto the back of the still running ATV, and climbed on in front of her, revving the engine and taking off unexpectedly without warning. But she didn't complain. In fact, she had laughed, enjoying the rush of the wind in her face and the sheer speed that they moved at through the woods. Because Dovetree was a summer retreat, surrounding the lake were tiny, dirt paths that led to cabins and concealed camps, and, because the town had once been a busy railroad stop, there were old abandoned tracks crisscrossing all over the county. So, they rode, and they rode, and they rode, and, somewhere between Jason's arrival and the point where they stopped to take a break in a densely shaded, rocky inlet of the lake, she had somehow managed to leave her cares and her pain and her anger behind.

"It's not as fast as a motorcycle, but it still helps."

The college graduate had not been expecting him to talk to her. The last time he had said anything to her was the night before when he had questioned whether or not she was alright and had been ignored, and the sudden reintroduction of conversation between them took Elizabeth slightly by surprise. "What?"

"After my accident," Jason revealed, sitting down beside her but keeping a fair amount of distance still between them. "I had all these feelings, but I didn't know what they meant, and I certainly didn't know how to deal with them. And then I discovered riding. I bought a bike, and, sometimes, I would ride all night. It was a rush. It could drown out every other thought inside my head but that of the adrenaline. Eventually, I learned how to better deal with my emotions. Sonny and Robin taught me, at first, and then Carly. Michael, though, he taught me more than anyone else."

"Michael was your son, right?"

The retired hitman nodded, not saying the words out loud. Eventually, though, he moved on, clearing his throat, and continued. "It didn't matter how much I learned, though, I still needed my bike. When there was nothing else in my life that I could depend upon, there was still speed and the wind, and it was grounding in a way, I guess. I don't know," the blonde revealed, shrugging his shoulders. Elizabeth watched him out of the corner of her eye, not quite facing the man beside her but also, at the same time, not turning her back on him. "I just thought that maybe it could help you, too, that, at least for a little while, you'd be able to forget and forgive as we rode."

And it was in that moment that the puzzle pieces clicked together for her. "Oh, I get it."  


"You do?"

She did. She knew exactly why Jason Morgan had brought her out into the middle of nowhere, actually opening up to her, after taking her on a four wheeler ride. He had wanted to trick her into returning the favor, lull her into a false sense of security so that she'd tell him all her dirty little secrets. He had opened up to her not because he trusted her and wanted to share a piece of himself with her but because he wanted to use her trust for him against her and get all the juicy answers to the questions he, no doubt, had about her past.

"Yeah, I do," she reiterated, standing up and stalking back to the ATV. With her shoulders turned away from him, she continued. "You wanted to manipulate me, take advantage of poor, sad, lonely, disappointing Elizabeth Webber, just like all the rest of them."

"All the rest of…"

She whirled around to face him. "All the men who have ever been in my life except for my brother," the brunette yelled back, answering his uncompleted query, "my dad, the men at the FBI, Sonny, my rapist!" She watched as Jason took an unconscious step backwards as if her words had physically hit him, but she didn't care. "Take me home." When he didn't move to do as she said, she raised her voice, demanding, "take me home now!"

"Elizabeth, that's not what I was doing. I was trying to…"

But she wouldn't let him finish. Instead, she threatened, "if you don't take me back to the house right this minute, I'll walk." Making good on her threat, she pivoted around to begin the trek, but Jason calling out behind her had her stopping in her tracks.

"I'll take you home if that's what you want, but this isn't over." A steely confidence entered his voice as he coolly repeated. "It's not over by a long shot."


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Seven**

**XXIII.**

Two hours before, she had been pacing, practically trembling with a need to escape the house… and Jason, but, now, sitting amongst the other women of the garden club, all she wanted to do was go home. Ever since their fight, or, rather, her argument with him, she had felt on edge, nervous and never truly comfortable in her own skin. It didn't matter what the others discussed, she wasn't interested, and, even though she was just as anxious around _her husband_, he at least made her feel safe, and, at that point, he was the only person who could. Although she still believed that he pitied her, that he had opened up to her after their ride for the sole purpose of getting her to talk to him, she couldn't deny the fact that the onetime enforcer attempted to take care of her. While he might not be attracted to her, and, while he might not really want to be her friend, he took his job of protecting her seriously, and the twenty-two year old knew he'd do everything within his power to make sure that she made it out of their situation in one piece.

But, unfortunately, that did nothing to ease her loneliness, and it certainly didn't make her feel more comfortable around him. It seemed as if the longer they were forced to cohabitate together, the more awkward she became. Every look he sent in her direction made her shiver, and, whenever he touched her, no matter how innocent the gesture was, her toes would curl in anticipation. Elizabeth wasn't naïve enough to not know what those reactions meant – she was attracted to the blonde. However, she was naïve enough that she didn't know how to respond to such feelings, how to accept them and move past them, because, no matter what she felt or wanted, _Jack _was _Ellis' _husband in name only; Elizabeth was nothing but another assignment for the retired hitman.

Toying with her half empty glass of iced tea, the brunette sighed wistfully to herself. She couldn't really even be mad at the man any longer. Her anger, so easily piqued just a week before, had disappeared rapidly, only to be replaced with a sense of melancholy, an emotion she was quite familiar with. For months after her rape, she had been depressed, and it was something that didn't ever truly leave her. When something bad happened in her life or she was faced with some kind of disappointment, the sadness would reappear, and she would just slowly make her way through it. Eventually, she would get it under control – her art or her brother would pull her out from underneath the despair and gloom, but, faced with a life without either of her two salvations, the petite artist had no idea what would help her find the beauty in life again.

Dovetree, as wonderful as it was, didn't feel like home. Her friends, if they could be called that, didn't even know who she really was. They all believed her to be some happily married woman who enjoyed gardening and antiquing when, in truth, she had a black thumb and varnish made her feel slightly dizzy. And then there was Jason. Although he was nice to her, although he treated her like his friend now, it wasn't enough. She was a pathetic little girl with a crush on a man and, knowing that he liked her just enough to watch a movie and share a laugh with her, only disheartened her even more. Being his friend simply wasn't enough, especially when she knew he was just as lonely or, perhaps, even more so than she was.

After all, Jason Morgan certainly had a reputation back home in Port Charles. Though he was perfectly capable of being committed to one woman, for he proved that during his two real relationships, when he wasn't seriously dating someone, he never had a shortage of women. Rumors had him as some kind of rough around the edges Casanova. He'd pick a girl up in a bar at night, take her home with him for the evening, and, the next morning, he'd 

show her to the door, repeating the very same steps just with a different woman the next night. But, now, stuck in Dovetree, pretending to be married to her, he couldn't do that, and Elizabeth was sure that _her husband_ resented her for the fact.

Whenever they were out together and she saw an attractive woman, for some masochistic reason, her brain would automatically question if the other woman was Jason's type. She'd watch her, studying the stranger's reaction to the once mob enforcer, imagining what the blonde holding her hand was thinking about the other woman, and then she'd picture him loving the stranger the same way he did her the week before in their driveway. The thought of Jason with another woman always made her sick to her stomach, despite the fact that she knew thinking such things, feeling such things, wasn't fair to him. In spite of what she felt for _her husband_, she knew that, in his eyes, she was just an inexperienced little girl, someone who couldn't offer him anything that he could ever want.

"So, I make a motion that we hold our next meeting at Ellis' house."

The words, though spoken in a daring, almost taunting manner, immediately captured the youngest member's attention, drawling her away from her inner thoughts. Glancing at her new friend, Elizabeth observed Evelyn's smirking face, realizing that the older woman had purposely been baiting her, perhaps in an effort to drawl her attention back to the discussion.

Refusing without pause, the twenty-two year old stated, "no, no, I couldn't."

But the others just stared at her, waiting for an explanation. Directly across from her, she watched at Betsy Northam, her much reviled neighbor, sat and smirked, her face never lifting from the knitting she had in her lap, though the former painter could see her eyes twinkling with unrepressed curiosity and challenge. The other two women, seated on either side of her, were just as inquisitive. Cate Foster, a tall, brown eyed woman with long, salt and pepper hair in her late sixties, took the minutes for the meeting, managing to never once lose track of the conversation or miss an opportunity to interject her own thoughts into the melee, and Renee Mortensen, the youngest of the original members before she joined, a stylish, still attractive woman in her mid-fifties with naturally brown hair and hazel eyes, the hostess that particular week, maintained her role in the group's dynamic while still constantly paying attention to everyone's glasses and plates. And then there was Evelyn, sitting diagonal from her at the small, intimately round table, smirking in her direction out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, we're still working on the house, and I don't want to have anyone over until it's finished and ready to be seen."

"Now, that I can attest to," the only unmarried woman in their group spoke up. "They've been up late every night this past week, the lights throughout the whole house ablaze. In fact, I think the only thing in that place that hasn't been getting nailed is Mrs. Martin here."

"Betsy," the other women chastised in unison as Elizabeth blushed profusely. Never in her life had she met a more outrageous bunch of elderly women, and she sincerely hoped she never would again. Though three out of the four of them were nice, Betsy, obviously excluded, she couldn't believe how frank they were, how outspoken, how utterly meddlesome. It was as though, since they were friends, they expected absolute truth and honesty about every last juicy detail of each other's lives, and she just was not comfortable reciprocating such a peculiar idea.

"Oh, leave the girl alone," Cate ordered the old maid. "For the first time in years, we've attracted a new member, someone who isn't a pair of support hose away from the nursing home. I will not allow you to bully her into quitting, Betsy, especially since you couldn't possibly recognize true intimacy between a man and a woman even if your very life depended on it."

"And Jack and Ellis," Renee added, as she often did, "have nothing to worry about in the intimacy department."

Despite herself, the fifty-something year old had managed to intrigue the college graduate. Turning towards the woman on her left, Elizabeth asked, "we don't?"

"Of course not," she was reassured. "I've seen the two of you together several times now out and about in town, and, let me tell you, that husband of yours, he's absolutely smitten."

"Besotted," Evelyn encouraged with a wicked grin. "Why, he can't even take his eyes off you."

"I saw the two of you when you were out to dinner a few days ago," Cate offered. "Adorable dress you had on that night, by the way. And, the whole time you were eating, he watched you, with this ridiculously fascinated look in his eyes. Even when that trashy waitress Bob refuses to fire kept trying to flirt with him, Jack didn't even glance in her direction."

"I think someone could walk in front of that boy naked, and he'd still prefer to stare at you completely dressed."

"Evelyn, you're exaggerating," the twenty-two year old protested, laughing nervously at the very idea. "We're newlyweds, that's all. Give us a few months, and we'll have just as many problems as the next couple."

"Oh, please," Betsy spoke up again for the first time in several minutes, harrumphing the younger woman's announcement. "That boy pants after you. You have him wrapped so tightly around your finger, he'll never be able to unwind himself completely. He builds you flowerbeds, he carries in the groceries, he opens doors for you wherever you go, and he's always finding some way to hold your hand. In fact, if I were to predict anyone losing interest in your marriage, I'd say it would be you. You're practically an ice berg sometimes around your husband. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't suffer from permanent frost bite."

Elizabeth laughed out loud when she saw Mrs. Shepherd reach out and pinch the woman beside her. "Shut up, you old busybody. Just because Ellis has a little class, after all, not all of us like to make public spectacles of ourselves, that does not mean that she doesn't love her husband as much as he loves her. I'm sure she's just not as responsive as he is when other people are around, and you know how men are – no sense of decency or decorum at all sometimes."

The four older women continued to argue back and forth on her behalf, Evelyn, Cate, and Renee taking her side against her insufferable neighbor's, but she quickly tuned out of their discussion, going within her own mind once again. She found it amazing that everyone else, apparently, had been watching Jason when other women were around them and not the strangers unlike her. And the fact that they, three women who, at one time or another, had all been happily married, were all so convinced that _her husband _was in love with her left the onetime artist stunned. Speechless. Flabbergasted.

Although she didn't believe that the blonde was truly in love with her, Elizabeth had to acknowledge the fact that he, at least, treated her with respect and dignity. Despite the fact that he was, undoubtedly, lonely as her previous thoughts had led her to deem, he showed restraint around other women, and she was thankful for that gesture, not thankful enough to give him permission to seek pleasure outside of their _marriage_, for even the thought of him with someone else made her want to give up and cry, but thankful enough to give him a free pass on his recent behavior towards her. After all, even if he had simply kissed her out of pity, it was more than any other guy had ever offered her, and, even if he had confided in her because he hoped his trust inspired her own, at least he was interested enough in her to open himself up.

And, although she didn't believe that Jason was truly in love with her, she had to wonder if, maybe, when the lighting was right, and they were getting along, and she just so happened to look kind of pretty, if _her husband _was the slightest bit attracted to her. Just the thought of that alone made her feel faintly more confident and definitely more beautiful, and she smiled a small, wistful, fleeting grin meant for no one else to see. But, then, she remembered who Jason Morgan was, and she remembered who Elizabeth Webber was and what she had been through over the years, and she immediately dismissed her faint hope. It was unrealistic to dream of the retired hitman ever returning her affections for him, and doing so would only complicate their relationship further. No, what she had to do was focus on his attempts to be her friend. She needed to reciprocate those attempts and push aside her ridiculous crush. After all, Jason didn't want her, and, if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to want him either.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

**XXIV.**

It was a Saturday afternoon, and, with his _wife _at her first garden club meeting, Jason had nothing better to do than run errands. So, that's why he found himself at the post office that day, wasting time by browsing through the flyers. He knew he could go home and work on the house some more. After all, to keep himself distracted from Elizabeth, he had been obsessively fixing the place up, but he only liked to be in the home he shared with the young brunette when she was there. After all, he didn't think of it as his place; to the retired enforcer, it was _theirs_.

And he wasn't talking about Jack and Ellis either.

But there was at least another hour for him to burn away before the former artist returned, and, if nothing else, he had plenty he could think about while doing so. After his failed attempt to get Elizabeth to talk to him the weekend before, he had expected her anger to continue, perhaps even indefinitely, but she had surprised him by calming down almost immediately and retreating into herself, internalizing her feelings and, to an even harsher extent than before, shutting him out. She never smiled, she never laughed, and, when they were out in public together, she was almost apprehensive, as if she was just waiting for something to go wrong, for Jason to leave her to fend for herself. If he didn't know any better, he would guess that she was depressed.

Unfortunately, that was one area of medicine he was unfamiliar with. Despite the fact that Jason Quartermaine had been interested in medicine, after his accident, he didn't shy away from learning about how to take care of himself. There was residual knowledge left over from his former self, but, generally, he had to start anew, amassing information and statistics from the books he took out from the library. He learned how to take care of 

himself in case of any anticipated or unforeseeable on-the-job injury, he learned what to do if he ever caught a virus, and, when Carly was carrying Michael, he even studied up on pregnancy and prenatal care. The only branch of medicine he was completely ignorant towards was psychology, so he had no idea how to help _his wife_.

"Martin!"

Glancing up from his feet which, in that moment, Jason realized he had been glaring at for several minutes, he saw a coworker – Gary, approaching him, hand extended for the younger man to shake. He returned the gesture, offering his fellow employee what he felt to be a polite smile but, in all actuality, came across as a grimace. Providentially, Gary wasn't fazed.

"Out running errands for the wife, too, I see," the gangly man commented, elbowing the more muscular of the two men good-naturedly in the ribs. Jason just stepped back, out of the way. "Yeah, my old lady always gives me a laundry list of things to do on Saturday afternoons. She says it's so I get out of the house and leave her alone. She doesn't like me constantly under foot."

He remained silent, not even nodding his head to show that he was listening or perceiving what the other man was saying.

"What about you?"

"Ellis is at a garden club meeting."

And that was all Jason offered – simple, short, and, in his opinion, far too much. Folding his arms across his chest, the blonde observed his coworker. Dressed in a pair of long, khaki shorts and a simple t-shirt, Gary looked relaxed, far more comfortable in his casual wear than he did in his work clothes, and the loopy grin on his face proved just that fact.

"So, me and some of the other guys are going camping this evening. We're going out in the middle of nowhere, no real plan in mind. They'll be a whole hell of a lot of fishing and even more beer. If you're interested in coming along, the more the merrier."

"Can't."

"Can't or won't," the other man persisted, winking in the onetime hitman's direction.

"Both," Jason remarked, his attention being diverted away from the conversation. Hanging up on the wall on the opposite side of the post office was an advertisement for the upcoming local fair. Personally, he hated everything that a carnival stood for – the greasy food, the obnoxious rides and games, the crowds, the exorbitant prices, but there were two words on the flyer that caught his interest: art exhibit. And, immediately, he was thinking about Elizabeth.

Cutting off his coworker mid-rant about the many benefits of male bonding, he interjected "Look, Gary, I really have to be going."

"Yeah, of course, man. I understand. You and the lovely, intelligent, and, no doubt, talented Ellis have plans together this evening." Despite the fact that he had effectively expressed his aversion to the men he worked with talking about _his wife_, they continued to rag him, replacing their previously insolent observations with compliments not even he could fault 

them for offering. It had become a running joke. "And, just for future reference, the invitation to join us on a camping trip always stands. We go about once a month, and, if you ever need to escape from home, well, you know who to talk to now."

Striding across the linoleum floor, Jason tossed a rather distracted, "thanks," over his shoulder before tearing off the ad for the fair and jogging out quickly towards his SUV. Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned in the opposite direction than the one he would need to take him towards him, dialing Elizabeth's cell phone as he drove further and further away from Dovetree.

"Hey, it's me," he told her without preamble. "I know I said that I'd get home this afternoon about the same time that you got back from your meeting, but something came up, and I'm going to be late. So, I'll… uh… yeah. I'll be home for dinner."

Tossing his mobile onto the passenger seat beside him, Jason gripped the steering wheel tighter, focused solely on his task at hand. It was going to be a long drive, but every single mile would be worth it if it managed to put a smile on the woman's face that he lived with.

**XXV.**

Jason Morgan finally understood the adage 'a duck out of water.'

Previously, in his life, he had always managed to adapt to new, unfamiliar situations one way or another. While he might not have enjoyed the process, he took it in stride, realizing the effort only increased his chances of survival. Because he had experience living with women before, adjusting to life with Elizabeth had been, if not easy, then at least less difficult than expected. Robin had trained him on the things a man should do for the woman he cares about, and Carly had taught him how to make up for any of his mistakes. However, when it came to presenting _his wife _with a gift, with a spur of the moment, impromptu present, he had no idea how to move forward.

With his girlfriends in the past, he had just either purchased them whatever they asked for or picked out the most expensive item in the store, but, with Elizabeth, everything was different. She had never requested a single thing from him, and he knew, just by watching her, studying her, living with her, that expensive things held no appeal to the young brunette. Instead, with the artist, it was the thought behind the gesture that mattered. It was why he was able to previously get away with doing things for her, with digging her flower beds or taking her for a ride on a borrowed ATV. But he had a feeling such actions wouldn't be enough to help Elizabeth at that particular point in their relationship. He needed to do something bigger, something special, something to show her that he did, in fact, care.

And Jason believed that he had managed to do just that, but now he was faced with the task of giving her the gift, and he was, for one of the first times in his life, nervous. He wanted her to like the present, to appreciate it, to recognize it as the offering of peace that it was. If it even managed to make her smile just once, it would be money well spent in his opinion. Putting pretenses aside, he simply carried the bags of supplies he had purchased into the house, forgoing the idea of wrapping them up.

Jason Morgan didn't use gift wrap.

Walking into the kitchen, he wasn't particularly watching where he was going, lifting the canvas bags to put them on the table when _his wife's_ frantic voice stopped him short and cold in his tracks.  


"Wait!"

"What," he asked, finally glancing up. What he found made him blink rapidly several times. Spread out before him was dinner, obviously carefully prepared and arranged - steak and baked potatoes, brownies, and cold beer, enough for two place settings.

"I wanted to apologize," Elizabeth stated, apprehensively fiddling with her fingers while biting on her full bottom lip. "Everything but the brownies was catered and delivered. I really can't cook, but I've been thinking about learning how to. Anyway, that doesn't matter right now." Shaking her head to dispel of her rambling thoughts, she pressed on. "How I treated you last weekend, I realized that it wasn't fair. You weren't trying to hurt me on purpose, and, though I still disagree with your tactics, you weren't trying to get me to talk to you for selfish reasons. I just… I'm not ready… yet, to open up to you about my past and what I'm feeling about, well, everything. Since the rape," the former painter paused, swallowing thickly, "I've had a hard time trusting people. Those that I thought I could trust in the past, betrayed me, and, even though I don't think that you would do that, I'm just…"

"You're not ready," he repeated her earlier words, nodding in understanding and comprehension. "Thank you, for telling me that. And for dinner," he added, offering the brunette a small, crooked smile. "Everything looks great."

She shrugged, blushing slightly. "It's not like I really did much."

"Don't," Jason argued, his grin spreading wider. "This, this is nice."

Finally, Elizabeth returned his smile, visibly relaxing before him. "Well, you should put your stuff down and eat before things get cold." Taking her seat to signal that he should do the same, she started to cut up her smaller piece of steak while asking, "so, where did you go anyway? You've been gone for a long time. Apparently," she teased, laughing, "you like to shop."

"Uh, actually," the onetime enforcer hedged, holding the bags out before him. "These are for you."

"Me," the college graduate squeaked, her already large sapphire eyes widening with surprise. Pushing her chair back, she stood up, slowly advancing towards _her husband_. "What did you…"

"Here," Jason attempted to hand them to her, shoving the bags forward in her direction, believing she would simply take possession of them herself so she could go through them. "It's just a bunch of art supplies – sketchpads, charcoals, oil pastels, pencils, small…"

But his words trailed off when she launched herself into his embrace, hugging him tightly, her lithe, little body fitting snuggly against his. With her head tucked into his chest, his chin resting upon it, the blonde stood there, awestruck. Never had he anticipated her reacting in such a way. When she didn't pull back, he felt the need to explain himself. "I've, uh, noticed how sad you've been lately, and I thought this might cheer you up."

"It's perfect," the twenty-two year old complimented, still not pulling away from him.

As he continued to talk, the retired enforcer allowed his arms to drop. Putting the canvas bags down at his feet, he then wrapped her up in his embrace, returning the intimate 

gesture. "I know we're supposed to be pretending to be different people, but, if I'm allowed to have a pool table, then you should be allowed to have your art. Just keep your drawings in the present, and I think we'll be fine."

"So, you didn't clear this with Houston and Maloney?"

"They do things everyday that affect us and our case," Jason argued, "and they don't consult us about those decisions."

"Good point," Elizabeth agreed, finally untangling herself from his hold. Bending down, she picked up the supplies he had purchased for her. "I'm just going to go put these away. Enjoy your dinner."

But before she could leave the kitchen, he had her by the scruff of her t-shirt, pulling her back towards him. "Put the bags down, Webber," he ordered _his wife_. "You're skinny enough already, and I don't feel like eating alone, so sit down, eat your dinner, and keep me company."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want you to."

"Actually," the brunette teased, sticking her tongue out at him briefly before listening and sitting back down. "You didn't ask; you bellowed."

Leveling her with the glare he used to use while working, Jason disputed, "I don't bellow," his pronouncement making her giggle with amusement.

She had only managed to take one tiny bite before her fork was placed back down on the table. Folding her hands underneath her chin, Elizabeth leaned on her elbows, watching him carefully as he quickly devoured his dinner. Sighing, she admitted, "I just can't believe you did this."

Suddenly, without warning, without very much provocation, just a simple sentence, he as thrust back into the past, into a memory still raw and tender that he just wanted to forget.

_"I just can't believe you did this, Sonny, and all to prove a point."_

_He could hear the disappointment in his coworker's voice, the regret and guilt, but the only thing Jason could focus on was the fact that he had not sensed the other man's arrival. If he couldn't be on guard, he wouldn't be able to protect himself, and the gunshot wound currently throbbing in his side would eventually kill him. If the fever he was quickly gaining or the damp cold surrounding him from the snow he was currently laying in didn't get him first, then someone, either the enemy who had shot him in the first place or a new threat, would come along and finish the job already started. He needed to open his eyes, he needed to focus, but all he wanted to do was go to sleep._

_Without moving, he felt a set of warm fingers on his throat, checking his pulse. He didn't stir at the man's touch, couldn't do anything to inform him that he was still very much conscious and aware. Even if his body could only focus on taking one breath at a time, he could still hear the guard moving about, he could tell that he was looking for something, and then he could distinguish the sounds of him making a phone call._

"_I found him."_

_Those three words gave the enforcer hope that the Irishman was there to help him._

_"He's got a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Breathing is slow and ragged, irregular, and he's burning up."_

_He knew that the men were trained not to call the authorities, not to involve the police or the hospital, so Jason wasn't quite sure why the guard was wasting time going through his inventory of available medical information. Why wasn't he just helping him, getting him someplace warm where he could start to thaw out?_

_"I'd say he'll be lucky to make it another hour, let alone the rest of the night."_

_And that's when he knew. Johnny wasn't there to help him. No, Sonny had sent his senior guard, the man who would, in all likelihood, replace the organization's fallen second, to make sure the job was done, to finish him off if Moreno wasn't competent enough to take care of it himself. It had all been a setup, a carefully orchestrated, calculated setup, and he had fallen for it. The meeting, the disagreement, the shooting, it had all been designed by Sonny to take him out without others suspecting there was dissention in the ranks of the Corinthos organization. After all, if a don didn't have control over his second, over his enforcer, his associates and enemies alike would believe him to be weak and ineffectual, making him a prime candidate for a hostile takeover._

_"Yeah, no problem, boss – I'll cover my tracks and make sure it appears as if I was never here. See you in a few."_

_Without bothering to even attempt to open his eyes, Jason could sense the guard standing up and preparing to leave. He wasn't going to fight him either. If Johnny wanted to leave him there to die, then so be it. If he was meant to live, the enforcer would find another way to survive without the help of a man who would so easily betray him and their friendship._

_"I'm sorry about this," the Irishman apologized softly, his words barely carrying over the few feet of quiet space separating them. "I just… it was business."_

_And, with that, Johnny O'Brien walked away, leaving him there, shot, cold, and dying in the snow._

"Jason? Jason! JASON!"

Realizing Elizabeth was yelling his name, the blonde shook his head slightly to clear away the memory, refocusing on _his wife_. Meeting her worried, fretful gaze, he offered her a slight, reassuring smile before turning back to his now cold dinner. He didn't mind though. Even cold, the steak and baked potato still tasted good.

"Are you alright?"

Not meaning to sound so abrupt but coming off that way nevertheless, the retired hitman stated, "I'm fine."

"Where did you…" The twenty-two year old's words trailed to a stop. "A memory?"

"Yeah."  


"I'm not going to ask you any questions, because, obviously, by now you realize that I don't like it when people ask them of me, but, if you ever want to talk…"

"You'll listen," Jason finished for her, picking up his beer bottle and taking a long gulp. Putting it back down, he nodded in her direction, accepting her offer. But, instead of taking her up on it, he changed the subject. "So, what are you going to draw first?"

"Oh, I'm not sure." Dreamily, the brunette across from him leaned back in her chair, pulling her legs up to rest them before her as she hugged her knees. "There's your pool table and the way the light shines in from the lead pained windows in the dining room, casting rainbows on the green felt, and, since the first day we moved in here, I've wanted to sketch the weeping willow tree in the back yard. However…"

"No."

"Oh come on," Elizabeth protested, slamming her feet back onto the floor as she playfully argued with him. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You're right, I don't," he acknowledged, standing up to take his plate to the sink. Turning around and crossing his arms over his chest, he observed the petite brunette before him, lifting a single brow in challenge. "But I recognize that tone, and that tone always means two things: that you're up to something, and that whatever it is, I won't like it."

Frowning, the artist whined, "Jason!"

"Absolutely not."

"Won't you just let me ask you first before you completely turn me down."

"Alright, fine," he agreed, spreading his hands out before him in a gesture of compliance. "But just know that the answer will still be the same."

Tucking both her legs underneath her and her hair behind her ears, _his wife_ pressed on, ignoring his warnings of a negative response. "Okay, you see, it's like this: my favorite things to draw are people." He just groaned in response, but she continued. "And, since you're really the only person I know well enough in this town to ask this of, and since I haven't been able to draw in months, I was hoping that you'd let me sketch you."

Warningly, he said, "Elizabeth…"

But she wouldn't let him finish. "I promise I won't be in the way. Just do whatever it is that you were going to do this evening anyway, and you won't even know that I'm there."

"You'll be silent?"

"Of course," she rushed to reassure him, holding her right hand over her heart.

He knew she was lying, not on purpose, of course, but Elizabeth was never truly silent even when she was trying to be. She'd mumble to herself or sing softly under her breath, and he really didn't mind her constant chatter and noise; he just liked to give her a hard time about it.

"And you won't try to pose me or give me directions on how to stand or when not to move?"

"Nope," the brunette denied. "I'll simply observe you in your natural settings without comment or critique. I'll be the proverbial fly on the wall, just less annoying and dirty and bigger and I probably won't bite you."

"Anything else?"

"You tell me," the twenty-two year old sassed, grinning coquettishly. "You're the one who's making the rules here, not me."

"Okay," the onetime hitman relented, laughing despite himself when the woman before him clapped her hands together gleefully. Making his way out of the kitchen, he waited for her to follow him, canvas bags in hand, as they made their way outside and towards the garage before he started talking once again. "But you have to do something for me in return, too."

"Anything," she promised.

"You get dishes duty for a week."

Petulantly, Elizabeth stomped her foot in annoyance, whimpering, "Jason! You know I hate to wash dishes. Now, you're just being mean."

But he ignored her complaints, laughing once again at her antics. And she continued to follow him, griping the entire time despite the fact that they both knew he wouldn't make her actually live up to her end of the deal. It was just a game, something they had played before between them and something they would continue to play for as long as they were together, and it felt good to be on a level again with _his wife_ where he could tease her and she would taunt him back. This time, however, the blonde hoped that the peace lasted for longer than just a few days. After all, he missed Elizabeth when she was mad at him or upset with herself, and, without portentousness, he believed that she missed him during those times, too.

Or maybe he just hoped that she did.

**XXVI.**

Elizabeth sketched on, her fingers flying over the thick sheets of paper as she depicted and shaded, smoothed out and illustrated the man working before her. Possessed by a stronger urge to create than she had ever experienced before, her drawings of Jason seemed to almost sketch themselves, and, despite her obvious bias, she could admit that the rough pieces were some of her best work in a long time. There was a truth, a base honesty, and a humble genuineness to the charcoal representations of Jason. Although he was simply changing the oil in the SUV, completely focused on the task at hand and oblivious to her fascinated study of his form in motion, there was also a sensuality, a grace to the pictures, and the brunette knew she would be left staring at them late into the night, long after _her husband _had gone to bed and she had retired to her room, ostensibly, to do the same thing.

Sitting there in the dusty garage, totally unmindful of the cold concrete beneath her or the stains she was acquiring on her clothes, the college graduate felt happier than she had in months, perhaps even years. For a brief moment, she could forget about the pain that was still preoccupying her from the past, she could push aside the anger still interrupting her day to day living and controlling her life, and she could focus on the here and now, on 

Jason, on the good instead of the bad. From their easygoing, affable dinner that evening, to his unexpected gift of art supplies, and, finally, sketching him as he worked, it was, in Elizabeth's opinion, the perfect evening. There was only one thing that could possibly make it better, but, if she knew anything at all, she knew not to push her luck, so she would take what she could get, savor it, and, somehow, find a way to make it enough. If all Jason Morgan could offer her was friendship, then she would just be his more than friend in private, in her artwork. Without realizing what his gesture of good will had afforded her, the blonde had unconsciously given her a means to love him without his knowledge, and she fully intended to take advantage of the circumstances.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part Eight**

**XXVII.**

"Hey, Martin, wait up!"

Hearing his boss calling out for him a few paces back, Jason slowed down his gait. Without fully stopping, though, he continued towards his SUV, eager to get home. Work was boring, he was hungry, and Elizabeth would be waiting for him when he returned. Nevertheless, despite his lack of interest in holding a conversation with the older man, he also knew he shouldn't be rude, so he made himself accessible, his body language approachable, hoping his employer would be concise and to the point.

Tom grinned, quickly morphing his own pace to match the blonde's. "So, are you looking forward to winter?"

Apparently, brevity was the last thing on the construction company owner's mind however. Shrugging, he responded shortly, "it's still August."

"Yeah, but the weather around here changes abruptly. One minute, you're sweating like a stuck pig, and, the next thing you know, you're burrowed so far underneath a mountain of covers, the outside world seems like a million miles away. We really don't have a spring or a fall around these parts."

After having traveled so much, Jason found the man's statement to be slightly curious. To him, spring and fall were just portions of the calendar; they weren't identified by certain forms of weather, but, instead of voicing his opinion, he remained quiet, simply offering, "Ellis likes the snow."

And that wasn't a lie. While he and Elizabeth had never spent much time together during their four years of association, he still felt as if he knew her well. Sonny would always find ways to mention her in their conversations, almost as if he was taunting his enforcer with the memories of his first meeting with the petite brunette. Plus, he was observant. Port Charles wasn't too large of a town that randomly running into someone you knew but tried to avoid on a regular basis was, by any stretch of the imagination, a rarity, so he had managed to see the young artist several times a year, and, over that time, picked up on several interesting traits about her, one of which was that she enjoyed winter and liked snow. And, for what it was worth, he did as well.

Distracting him from his thoughts, Tom chuckled, pausing beside his own truck. "You know," he admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly while averting his gaze. "Amanda told me about you and the Mrs.…"

"What about us?"

The older man coughed, obviously uncomfortable with the turn of conversation he had directed them towards. "About the two of you wanting to start a family." Folding his arms over his chest, the former hitman simply observed the man before him, allowing him to do all the talking. Even though Elizabeth had informed him of the town's mistaken assumptions, there was no way he was touching the topic himself. "Anyway, the reason I bring it up is that, well, you see, all of our children were conceived during the winter, so, if you're having trouble… Just, don't get discouraged."

By the time his boss finished, his face was as bright as the red vehicle they were standing next to, and Jason had to stifle his own laughter. "What would make you think we were getting discouraged?"

"Well, everyone heard about your little… incident in the grocery store," the balding man began only to pause, clear his throat, and then completely change the topic. "So, I was wondering if you were busy this weekend."

"That depends."

"Oh," the older man remarked ineptly, caught off guard by his employee's response. "On what?"

"Ellis might have plans for us."

"But surely they won't take up the whole weekend," Tom argued, smiling in a manner that told Jason there was a very pointed reason behind their entire uncomfortable conversation. The tall, brown eyed man wanted something from him, and, because he liked his boss, he wasn't adverse to the idea of helping him out… if he could.

Pressing for more information, the onetime enforcer encouraged, "what do you need?"

"Well, you see, it's like this. One of my usual guys has a family wedding to go to this weekend, so I'm one man short on my pit crew, and, knowing how well you can get around an engine, I was hoping I might be able to talk you into pinch hitting just this once."

"We'd be at the race all day," he spoke his thoughts out loud, continuing when he noticed his employer nodding his head in accordance with his statement. "I don't know, Tom. I really wouldn't want to leave Ellis alone that whole time. We like to spend time together on the weekends, and…"

"Bring her with you," the older man suggested. "Like I told you before, Amanda goes to all the races, and I'm sure she'd enjoy your wife's company."

"Yeah, but she really doesn't like crowds."

That made the bald man pause momentarily. "I could talk to the boss, see if she's willing to maybe stay at home this time. You know, they broadcast the race on one of the local TV stations. They could make a day of it, do girly things together while watching us from home."

"To be honest, I'm not a big fan of crowds myself either," Jason admitted. And he wasn't. Crowds meant disorder and chaos, and disorder and chaos meant opportunity for disaster. Despite the fact that there were no indications that their cover had been compromised, he wasn't going to take the risk and put himself in such a precarious situation. "Listen, I'll tell you what," he offered, willing to find the middle ground. Not only did he genuinely want to help his boss out of a jam, but he thought it would be nice to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty working on an engine again. "The race is on Saturday, right?"

"Always."

"Well, what if I came over tomorrow night and helped you get the car tuned up for the race the next day? If we get all the kinks out before hand, hopefully, you won't need as many pit 

stops Saturday afternoon."

Tom smirked, holding his hand out for the younger man to shake. "It's not exactly what I was hoping for, but I'm certainly not going to turn down an offer like that. Tomorrow night, Jack," he agreed, nodding his head, "six o'clock. Bring your own tools, and I'll supply the beer. Don't even bother knocking at the front door. Just come around back. Amanda will know that you're coming, and she'll leave us alone."

"And what about your crew still being one man short?"

"Don't worry about it," his employer offered, waving off the blonde's concerns. "I'll just sweet talk the Mrs. into helping out. Years ago, back when the kids were still living at home, she was a member of my team. I doubt she's forgotten how to change a tire."

With that, the two men parted, Tom getting in his truck and pulling off with a wave in Jason's direction, and Jason continuing on his own to his waiting SUV. Starting up his vehicle, he drove away, eager to talk to _his wife_. He wanted to hear about her day, see what she had worked on while he was gone all morning and afternoon, and have dinner with her. Afterwards, he'd rack a game of pool, and she'd sketch. What, he didn't know. He didn't ask, and she didn't offer to show him, but he didn't mind. He knew that her artwork was personal, private, and, until she was ready to share it with him, he'd just take pleasure from the fact that he was the one who had given her back her passion in the first place. And, while it wasn't everything that he wanted to give the brunette beauty, it was certainly a start in the right direction. Baby steps, he told himself. No pun intended.

**XXVIII.**

Unlike most people, Elizabeth Webber enjoyed the peace and quiet of a blissfully dead business day. With Didi out making deliveries and the flower shop empty, she was left with nothing but time on her hands and no work to be done. So, taking advantage of the situation, she pulled her stool up to the front counter, dug through her tote to find her drawing supplies, and flipped the sketch book open to her current, unfinished piece. Tucking her long, chestnut hair behind her delicate ears, she set to work, her chin resting contentedly in her left hand as the rest of the world quickly disappeared into obscurity.

Despite her proclamations of wanting to draw her new surroundings, the twenty-two year old found that there was only one subject that could currently hold her attention long enough so that she could finish a sketch: Jason. Retracing the past couple of months with the retired enforcer, she was working on a series of drawings depicting various moments shared between them, and, as it had always been with her artwork, through her hand's motions, she was able to see things more clearly. She was able to realize that, instead of the loathing and distrust she had imagined on _her husband's _face when they were first forced to live together, the blonde had actually been wary of offending or hurting her, walking on egg shells and taking his own cues from her. And she was able to notice that there were certain expressions Jason put forth that she couldn't translate or understand, certain hues of his cryptic, fathomless blue eyes that she couldn't decipher or interpret. But she drew them anyway, staring at the reflections of the past before her hours after the pieces were completed as she strived to finally figure out exactly who Jason Morgan was.

Disrupting her thoughts, a purse was slammed down onto the counter before her, and, lifting her sapphire eyes towards the intruding person, Elizabeth was met with not one pair of curious orbs in her direction but a gaggle of curious gazes. "Whatcha workin' on, Cupcake," Cate asked her, insisting upon using the ridiculous nickname she had been 

christened with just a week prior. According to the older woman, she was small and petite like a cupcake but packed a powerful, sweet punch. Of all the ways to be described…

"I'm just sketching," she replied, hiding her notebook from their wandering eyes. Just as Betsy was about to reach for it herself, the youngest member of the garden club snatched it back, clutching it tightly to her chest. "And it's private."

"Well, then, it has to be Jack," Evelyn offered, the other ladies nodding their head in agreement with her. "Not that I ever thought otherwise, mind you. If I had a husband that dreamy, I'd be drawing him all the time, too."

"That's if you had an artistic bone in your body," Renee taunted, earning herself a sharp jab to the ribs despite her attacker's age.

Clearing her throat and ending their fun at her expense, the college graduate changed the topic. "What can I help you girls with? Didi's on a run right now, but she'll be back soon, so, if you need to speak with her, you could just…"

"We're here to talk to you." Mrs. Northam's succinct statement made Elizabeth sit back in her seat nervously, fully alert and coming to attention. "You don't have to look as if you're going in front of a firing squad. We don't bite."

"Well, _we_ don't," Renee teased, rolling her eyes in the old maid's direction, "and Betsy's had her rabies shot, so you're safe."

"If this is about holding the next meeting at my house, I already told you no."

"We're well aware of your inflexible position," Evelyn promised her, her merry blue eyes twinkling with just enough mischief to tell the brunette artist that the older woman was anything but. The other ladies had simply decided to stop harassing her about the topic momentarily, probably in an effort to get her to agree to do something else. "And, besides, this is much more important than convincing you to allow us poor, lonely, old women the chance to ogle your husband."

Cate picked up the torch and continued on with the pitch. "You see, the annual Dovetree Fall Frenzy parade is coming up…"

"And, as a group," Renee explained, "we always enter a float."

"However, we haven't won in more than ten years," her neighbor complained, her thin mouth pressed even tighter due to annoyance. "And I don't know about the rest of the girls, but I am damn sick and tired of losing. That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"As we've recently discovered," Mrs. Mortenson revealed, "you're an artist… and not just with the flower arrangements you make here at work."

"And we were hoping that you'd do us the honor," Evelyn practically begged, "of designing our float for us this year."

"Spare no expense," Cate instructed her. "Use the most expensive flowers you can think of, because it doesn't matter. "Didi's promised to donate all the blooms to us, free of charge, as 

a way to advertise both her shop and her latest employee. She figured that, if people find out about you and your gorgeous designs, she'll end up with more than enough customers to compensate for the extravagant expense."

Of all the things she had been expecting… "Girls, I'm really honored, but…"

"No buts," Betsy cut in, interrupting her with a steely, determined gaze. "You're doing this Martin. I won't take no for an answer."

The old biddy's tone made her bristle. Standing up from her stool, Elizabeth straightened her spine, rolling back her shoulders in a display of challenge. "You won't?"

"Don't listen to the wicked witch, Ellis," Renee beseeched her. "If you do this for us, we'll be forever in your debt."

Now, that she could work with. However, even she knew to play hard to get. "Well, I don't know… With all the remodeling Jack and I are doing right now, we're really busy."

"We'll never bother you again about hosting the meeting at your house," Evelyn promised, one pale, dainty hand over her heart to emphasize her words.

"And then there's also the fact that we're trying to have a baby," the twenty-two year old continued as if she hadn't heard her friend's assurance.

"Oh, please," Mrs. Northam complained, waving off her neighbor's protests. "If you're that pressed for time, sketch while you're having sex. I'm sure Jack is quite capable of taking care of things on his own."

"Betsy," Cate gasped, slapping the only one of the women to never have married rather hard. Turning back to the youngest member of their group, she apologized. "Forgive her. All that static from her police scanner has scattered her brain over the years. However, speaking of Jack, if you do this for us, we will _all _stop hassling you about your husband."

"So, no more rude comments, no more prying questions, no more spying," Elizabeth wagered, looking pointedly at the nosy busybodies before her at her last stipulation. When they nodded their agreement, she smiled, a bright, triumphant grin of achievement. "Alright, I'll design the float for you."

Still practically floating with amusement and satisfaction, she watched as the four women ambled their way out of the shop, Evelyn lingering behind as the last to leave. Once they were alone, the elderly woman pivoted around to face the artist. "The theme is 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.' Have your plans drawn up for the next meeting, okay, dear?"

She nodded, accepting the due date for her new project. And, with a slight wave of her hand, Mrs. Shepherd disappeared as well, once again leaving the pretty brunette with her peace, quiet, and the opportunity to draw. However, she didn't start to work on the float or on compiling her ideas for it. Rather, she went back to her sketch of Jason, hoping to find inspiration from his handsome face.

**XXIX.**

Lining up his next shot, Jason glanced up at the woman sitting with him as he played, her cute, little form perched precariously on the corner of his pool table as she sketched away. Looking back down to the game at hand, he made his shot, talking as he eyed the green felt for his next move. "So, I talked to Tom today."

"Oh," Elizabeth remarked, never once tearing her gaze away from her notepad. "How's Amanda?"

Pausing, the blonde stood to his full height, eyeing _his wife _warily. "I thought you didn't like her?"

"I'm learning that the women around here aren't intentionally rude or prying. They just… are. And, besides, aside from Amanda questioning me a little too enthusiastically about our private relationship, she really was sweet. Plus, she offered to give me cooking lessons."

"That would be nice."

"Hey," she squawked, good naturedly taking a swipe at the retired enforcer and completely missing her mark, her hand idly falling back to her lap after simply connecting with the dense, oppressive, late summer air. "I resent that. You're obviously not starving."

"That's because I can cook, and," Jason allowed, smirking in the brunette's direction, "you can order takeout."

"Well, at least you can appreciate my contribution to this marriage." They shared a gentle smile, and he felt a warm surge of contentment wash through him as he enjoyed their time together. Ever since the weekend before when Elizabeth apologized and he bought her art supplies, they had been getting along well, finally, perhaps, putting their former, somewhat unfounded, animosity towards each other to rest. At least, he hoped so. "Anyway, what did he want?"

Shaking his thoughts away, the onetime hitman refocused upon the twenty-two year old beside him. "Who?"

Laughing, she teased, "Tom. What did he want?"

"Oh, he wanted me to help him out this weekend. He's one short for his pit crew team, and needed me to help him with the race on Saturday."

If Jason didn't know any better, he would have thought his answer made the artist beside him frown, but he quickly dismissed the wishful thinking, nudging her leg with his pool cue in silent request for her to slide a few paces down on the table so he could attempt his next shot. She obliged, not saying a word, and the two of them fell into a rather uncomfortable silence. After missing, he straightened, scowling at the pool table before him as if it was the game's fault he missed his shot and not his own for being distracted by the woman in the room with him.

Clearing his throat, he pressed on. "I told him I couldn't."

"You shouldn't have done that," Elizabeth argued, tossing her sketchpad and pencil aside as she turned slightly on the cherry wood edge to face him. "If you wanted to go, and he needed you, there's no reason for you not to."

"But what about you?" Despite her words to the contrary, the blonde got the distinct impression from _his wife _that she was glad he wasn't going to the race, and the sensation only served to convince him further that he had made the right decision.

"Don't worry about me," the college graduate reassured. "In fact, I could really use the time to start working on my design for the garden club's float."

"What float?"

"Oh, well, today at work the ladies stopped by and asked me to help them out by designing their annual float submission to the Fall Frenzy parade. At first I declined, but then they started badgering me, and…"

"You agreed," he finished for her, grinning slightly at his next thought. "However, I'm sure you held out long enough to get them to agree to do something for you in return."

"How did you know that?"

"Instincts, Webber," was all he would reveal.

As she rolled her beautiful eyes in his direction, Jason couldn't help but smile even wider, his crooked smirk making his eyes alight with amusement. "Alright, so maybe I did, but they had it coming. After teasing me mercilessly for weeks about our sex life…" Her words came to an immediate stop, her mouth falling open in a strangled gasp. They both simply stared at one another for several beats until, finally, Elizabeth stammered. "I mean, not that we have a… you know, but they think we do, because we're supposed to be married, and they're always making all these inappropriate comments that end up embarrassing me. So, I made them promise to stop in exchange for doing them this favor."

Swallowing roughly and trying to banish the words 'our' and 'sex' from his mind, the former enforcer asked, "is there a theme or something," his voice, peculiarly enough, coming out sounding strangled.

However, either _his wife _didn't notice or she chose to ignore it as she responded, "yeah. 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.'"

Scratching his forehead, Jason asked, "who's Charlie Brown?"

It was a simple enough question, one he honestly wanted an answer to, but, for some reason, his inquiry made the brunette start laughing hysterically as she nearly doubled over from mirth, clutching her stomach tightly. Still, he patiently waited for a response, only to tip his head to the side in encouragement when the young artist finally met his gaze once again.

"Morgan, you really are hopeless, do you know that?" As his brow furrowed in confusion, she pressed on. "I'll tell you what. Since you're not going to the races on Saturday, we'll rent some movies and hang out together again, okay?"

"And what exactly does this have to do with this guy named Charlie?"

"You'll see," she promised, jumping down off the edge of the pool table.

Before she could leave the dining room, though, he stopped her by calling out, "Elizabeth?"  


Turning back around, she faced him. "Yeah?"

"I am going over to Tom's tomorrow night to help him get his car ready for the race. Is that okay?"

She smiled softly, a true, warm, genuine expression of acceptance and joy. "That's fine. While you're gone, I'll start working on my float sketches." Her happiness quickly disappeared, though, only to be replaced by nervousness. Biting her lip, the brunette asked, "when I've finished a couple, would you mind looking at them for me, telling me what you think?"

"Sure," Jason offered, shrugging his shoulders in acquiescence. "But I can't really see two dimensional objects that well… because of my accident."

"That's okay," Elizabeth assured him. "I'll help you see them."

He had no doubt that she would.

**XXX.**

Elizabeth hated artistic blocks.

There was nothing more frustrating than a blank piece of paper staring up at you with expectations of being filled when you absolutely could not manage to cooperate. Although it had been months since she had been faced with creativity issues, she had also not been forced to complete assigned projects for school since graduating in May. Plus, because of her stint in the witness protection program, she had only, once again, just started drawing.

In the past, when faced with a deadline, she had used several tricks to banish away distractions so she could focus on the task at hand. Sometimes, taking a walk would help, but, on that particular evening, her walk to the lake and back only managed to remind her of the very first night she and Jason had spent in Dovetree together. Music had proven unhelpful as well, the songs either not to her liking or reminding her, like everything else, of _her husband_. Finally, she had attempted deep breathing, relaxation techniques, but the yoga inspired zen had only managed to make her sleepy.

So, instead of working on her designs for the float, instead of coming up with plans for her garden club friends to consider, she was doodling images of the retired hitman she lived with in her brand new, clean sketchpad. Laughing at herself and her silly, romantic notions, the twenty-two year old, tossed aside the creamy, thick paper, sighing in personal aggravation. The funny thing was that it wasn't the first time Jason Morgan had managed to distract her work. In fact, it was partly because of him that she almost failed her senior seminar in college.

Snapping her gaze back open, her eyes landed on the black television screen before her, but, not seeing the emptiness of the turned off appliance, she, instead, was thrust back into the past, to one of the worst days of her life.

_Annoyed with the fact that she couldn't seem to focus, Elizabeth flipped on her tiny TV, hoping for a momentary distraction. For her penultimate piece as a senior, her advisor had instructed her to paint the very thing that scared her the most as an artist, and, foolishly, she had taken his assignment to heart, actually attempting and she feared failing to capture _

_desire on a canvas. She knew what she wanted to paint – an abstract representation of all things tempting and forbidden that humans desire even though they know they're not supposed to, but, instead of her hand moving across the sketchpad and performing the way she wanted it to, it, instead, insisted upon drawing her own personal, forbidden desire: Jason Morgan._

_But she hated him. She feared him. She absolutely refused to allow her mind the opportunity to think about him. So, she tossed aside her work, scanning through the various channels looking for something completely clinical and unattractive to divert her from her betraying thoughts. Glancing at the slender watch on her equally as delicate wrist, Elizabeth noticed that it was time for the news, so she found the local Port Charles station and settled back into her ratty, old sofa prepared to bore her own mind into artistic submission. Instead, she heard a barrage of words that would forever change the course of her life, words that would forever haunt her._

_"And, now, for our top story: earlier today, forensic specialist Steven Hardy Webber was arrested for tampering with evidence, perjury, and several other undisclosed crimes that the local Police Department have not yet released to the media. However, it has been leaked that Doctor Webber has been on reputed crime boss' Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos' payroll since moving to town two years ago. The suspect is the great-grandson of Port Charles' beloved Steve Hardy, the renowned and deceased former Chief of Staff at General Hospital, and the sister to local art student, Elizabeth Webber. Interestingly enough, Miss Webber has had ties to Sonny Corinthos for years now, including possible romantic connections to the alleged mob boss. As more details pertaining to this breaking story come to light, stay tuned to News Channel Seven. We'll be back with more news after a brief commercial break."_

Shaking away the thoughts, the twenty-two year old refused to allow herself to be swallowed up by the past. It was what it was; there was no going back and changing it now. She needed to find a way to move forward, to, if not forget about the pain and the betrayals of her former life, then to at least find a way to functionally live with them. With that in mind, she picked up her sketch pad again, determined to draw anything, even if it was page after page of Jason's countenance, as long as it served to distract her from the memories.

She would simply work on her designs for the parade float later, tomorrow, next week, whenever it was that she found the proper inspiration. In that moment, the only things that mattered was capturing the exact angle of _her husband's _nose, was finding the perfect shade of blue to imitate _her husband's _stunning cobalt eyes.

Everything else…

Well, to be blunt, she simply couldn't worry about, wouldn't even consider.

**XXXI.**

It was late, much later than when Jason had anticipated returning home, much later than when he had told Elizabeth to expect him. He hoped that she wasn't angry, but, seeing as how he had called hours before to let her know that he was still at The Pattersons' and there had been no answer, the blonde assumed that _his wife _had fallen asleep before she could even realize that he had not lived up to his word. Oddly enough, he was disappointed by the thought.

Unlocking their side door, he made his way through the house, turning off the lights as he 

passed through the various rooms. Chuckling softly to himself, he took notice of the dirty brownie dishes lining the sink, rolling his eyes at the young artist's penchant for all things sweet and for her absolute refusal to do the dishes. She really did hate the chore. And he smiled wistfully to himself when he passed through the dining room, noticing that she must have tried to play a game of pool on her own despite knowing next to nothing about the sport. The sight made him wonder if the college graduate had maybe missed him that evening, but, just as soon as the thought occurred to him, the former enforcer banished it, refusing to get his hopes up for nothing.

What was supposed to have been a quick tune up had turned into him and his boss checking every single nut, bolt, and screw of the tried and tested race car. What was supposed to have been a routine oil change had somehow progressed into a lengthy discussion on the various brands of automotive oil with Jason winning the friendly debate in the end. And what was supposed to be just one more beer had someway morphed into several over a time span of a few hours as he and his employer discussed both the history of racing and its future. And, despite the fact that he had enjoyed his evening away from home, he felt foolish because he had also missed Elizabeth and had been hoping to find her waiting up for him.

Finally coming into the living room, he paused at the scene before him. Sprawled out on the couch, her rich, thick hair dangling over the edge of the sofa, slept the beautiful woman who, oftentimes, occupied most if not all of his thoughts. Evidently exhausted, she was somehow managing to sleep with every single light in the room ablaze, her body skewed into an awkward, cramped position. The closed sketchbook on her lap told him that she had been drawing that evening, just as she said she was going to, and the soft music playing in the background and numerous half finished cups of hot chocolate littering the coffee table told him that she had tried to stay up. Whether or not her efforts were to see him after he returned home or so she could get more work done on her float designs, Jason didn't know, but he certainly wasn't going to question her about the issue and dash his hopes that it was the former and not the latter.

Bending down, he slid his arms underneath the petite brunette, scooping her up into a safe, cradling embrace. She barely stirred, only managing to turn into his body to burrow even deeper into his chest, and, once he was reassured that she would remain sleeping as he carried up to her bed, Jason started moving, walking slowly towards the stairs. While he told himself that he was moving at such a leisurely pace so that he wouldn't wake _his wife_, the onetime hitman knew that to be only a part of his reasoning. The larger and more startling motive was the fact that he wanted to savor the feelings of the twenty-two year old in his arms for as long as he possibly could.

However, the trip upstairs didn't last nearly as long as he wanted it to, and, before he knew what he had done, the blonde had managed to put the sleeping artist into her bed, even going so far as to tuck the numerous blankets piled high on top of the mattress around her. Turning off the bedroom lights, he proceeded to go back down to the living room, to the couch where he would find his own awkward sleeping position and attempt to rest for the remainder of the evening… not that he really thought he'd be able to close his eyes and not see Elizabeth.

Back to the relative safety of the first floor, he went to pick up the brunette's various mugs but, in doing so, somehow managed to knock over her sketchbook he had set aside just minutes before. Failing to catch it before it could fall to the floor, dozens of drawings tumbled out from underneath the cover, and Jason couldn't believe what he was looking at. Staring back at him was picture upon picture, all rendered from _his wife's _talented hand, of 

himself in various settings and poses.

He knew that he should feel repentant for the mistake, for accidentally invading the artist's privacy, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the mishap. Picking up the detailed drawings, he put them back in the notebook as if they had never fallen out in the first place, but it would be quite a while before he would be able to forget their existence or the impact they had upon him. The sketches showed the onetime enforcer that the woman he wanted as more than just a friend cared about him as well, that the thought of him was with her even when he physically wasn't.

Smiling to himself, Jason laid down on the couch, forgetting about the dirty hot chocolate mugs. Satisfied with the progress he and Elizabeth had unwittingly made that evening, he closed his eyes, a plan formulating in his sharp, focused mind.

Baby steps had just been blown out of the water.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Okay, so this chapter TOTALLY got away from me. I had absolutely no intentions for it to turn out to be fourteen very long pages in length, but, obviously, I had no idea what I was doing when I started this post. Also, because of where we're at in this piece, I thought I'd give you a head's up and tell you that, by the time I finish this story, it'll be seventeen parts in length. Anyway, so I think that's it. Enjoy!_

Charlynn  


**Part Nine**

**XXXII.**

Jason Morgan had never quite felt this way before in his life, but the more baffling thing was that he couldn't quite say what _this _was. What he did know was that it was all because of his little, unassuming, perfectly oblivious roommate and the plan he had concocted with her in mind weeks before. He could also pinpoint several of the emotions that were tied up in his present state of perplexing sentiment, but even they were new experiences for him, heightening his confused nature.

For one, he was anxious. While training to be Sonny's enforcer, he had been instructed to never show his nerves, for, if he did, the enemy would take them as an exploitable weakness. So, he had learned to manage his anxiety to the point where he didn't even experience it at all. He was always cool under pressure, unflappable. Well, at least, that was until a five foot, two inch, blue eyed, brunette beauty entered his life on a daily basis, sending his collected manner into a dangerous tailspin and leaving him grasping for fortifying moments of ease.

Surprisingly enough, his former relationships had not proven proper training ground for life with _his wife_. While he had genuinely cared for Robin, dating her had been an entirely new experience for him, uncharted territory that he had to adjust and adapt to as he went along. There was never time to become worried, because, by the time he realized he was bothered by an idea or a situation, there was already a new, equally mystifying one thrust upon him. As for Carly and Michael… Carly hadn't been important enough for him to brood over, and, with his son, he just had to react instinctively. He couldn't take the time to second guess himself, because that was a luxury a parent didn't have. Parents had to act immediately, hoping that their first reaction was the right one, and, nine times out of ten, with Michael, his had been right. However, being a father to a little boy was nothing like being a husband to a grown woman.

Then there was also the fact that he was excited, and that was something Jason just never was. Rather, he liked his life to move along at a calm, relaxed state, because excitement seemed almost too jovial of a feeling for him, as a trained killer, to experience. But Elizabeth, and her artwork, and the way he felt about her, had changed all that. The three long weeks that had stretched by between the moment he had decided to take a large, perhaps, even foolish step in their relationship and that very moment as he sat around his living room coffee table with the woman in question next to him and his boss and his boss' wife across from him, had been interminable, and, as each day past them by, time moving perpetually closer to the moment where the artist beside him would finally become conscious of just exactly what he had done for her, he became even more eager. His heart seemed to beat faster, his palms would, for no reason whatsoever, become slightly clammy, and he found himself smiling even more than was normal, than what he believed to be advisable.

And, then, finally, tossed somewhere in between his apprehensiveness and his anticipating restlessness, remained the fact that he was also scared. He, Jason Morgan, who, at one time, had been the most feared mafia enforcer on the east coast, was scared out of his mind by the thought that the twenty-two year old on his right wouldn't like the grand gesture he was making for her, that she would, rather than being grateful for his support and appreciative of his feelings for her, be angry at him for doing something so significant behind her back. Elizabeth's wrath was the last thing he wanted to elicit, but, nonetheless, there was a definite chance that his big plan would do just that.  


But, if she didn't like his surprise, he would just start again. After all, if nothing else, he was determined, and they had already managed to overcome so much old, crippling baggage between them that, surely, they'd be able to get past their issues, once again, if necessary. However, he was hoping that there would be nothing to get past, and, instead, that his actions would bring them closer than ever. At just the thought of being more than friends with _his wife_, Jason grinned wistfully, squeezing the brunette in question's hand from underneath the coffee table they – the two of them and their guests – were sitting around.

After finally extending a return invitation to the Pattersons to have dinner with them, the older couple had agreed, and he and Elizabeth had set about planning a, if not fun evening, then certainly a nice, relaxing, enjoyable one. He was to make steaks and vegetables on the grill, she had cooked the only thing, really, that she could, brownies, and there had been beer in the cooler for he and Tom and wine coolers for her and Amanda. The weather was still nice enough that they had planned to dine outside, especially since their kitchen table was too small for four people and their dining room was composed entirely of a pool table and a darts board, but, as plans were known to do, theirs had been ruined by an early fall thunderstorm, the drenching rain bursting forth from the clouds the moment their guests had arrived.

While had had been at a loss as to what they should do instead, the college graduate he lived with had shown absolutely no signs of worry or care. After endearingly insisting that he take an umbrella with him outside to finish grilling their food in the garage, he had obeyed, feeling very emasculated but, nevertheless, helpless to say no to _his wife_, the brunette that occupied, at that point, pretty much every single one of his thoughts, gave their friends, what she called, the grand tour of their home, making light of their still unpacked boxes in the otherwise bare spare bedroom and the seemingly impersonal nature of their furnishings. By the time he got inside with the steaks, potatoes, and corn on the cob, all three of them had been laughing, drinks in hand, appearing relaxed and engrossed in their conversation, and that moment had set the mood for the entire evening.

Using candles instead of electric, they had lounged out on pillows in the living room, the women dominating the conversation as he and his employer listened patiently, often engrossed in every word their respective spouses had to say, simply enjoying them as they enjoyed themselves. While Amanda had gone on and on about how perfectly eccentric she found their unique sense of living style to be, Elizabeth explained all the various plans they had for improving the house, some of which, prior to that evening, he had been unaware of, and, while Amanda had praised the artist at his side for her incredible sketches scattered around the cluttered bungalow, eliciting a pretty pink blush from the younger woman, Elizabeth had distracted her with a discussion on the garden club's float. And, now, hours later, the food gone and the alcohol supply heavily dented by all four members of their little dinner party, the two girls were just finishing up a trip down memory lane as they compared their favorite winter related recollections from childhood, and Tom was preparing to go out and start the car for his wife.

As _his wife,_ who had, somehow, managed to fit herself tightly up against his side sometime during the evening, not that he was complaining, went to stand, Jason heard her say, "here, let me get up and show you out…"

"Nonsense," the petite blonde argued, dismissing such an idea. "You two look too comfortable to move." He happened to wholeheartedly agree with her and was hoping to keep the twenty-two year old snuggled up beside him for as long as he possibly could. "Tom and I are perfectly capable of showing ourselves out. Besides," Amanda added, "you don't 

need to be going outside and getting yourself sick. You have a big weekend coming up with the parade and the Fall Festival."

"Well, are you sure…"

"Don't I look sure," the older woman returned pointedly, arching a thin brow at the artist.

"Alright, you win," Elizabeth agreed, resettling herself into his embrace while barely managing to stifle a yawn. He wasn't sure if her actions were just for show or if she really was comfortable being that close to him, but, whatever the reason, he was going to enjoy the innocent closeness without over thinking it. "Besides," his roommate continued with a smirk, her head falling to his shoulder on a soft drop. "Jack does make a pretty nice pillow."

And, then, she had to go and say something like _that_, sending his mind to places anywhere but innocent.

"Well, personally," his employer stated, rejoining them in the living room, his form drenched despite the fact that he had worn a coat with an attached hood outside to his vehicle, "I'm hoping that you have actual pillows, because this old back of mine needs all the lumbar support it can get." Before anyone could question his odd statement, he pressed on, "it looks like we're stuck here for the evening. I'm sorry to impose you on like this, Jack and Ellis, but, when I went to start the truck, the radio came on…"

"How many times have I told you to turn that thing off before you shut off a car," Amanda interjected, interrupting her husband. "It drains the battery when you restart an engine like that." Turning to face their hosts, she sarcastically remarked, "and this coming from the man who has been racing since he was a teenager."

But Tom just ignored her. "There was a weather advisory on, and it looks like several of the main streets through town have been flooded, and they're shutting all the roads down."

"Of course you shouldn't be driving then," Elizabeth assured him, standing up much to Jason's displeasure. However, wordlessly, he joined her, relinking their hands as soon as he was to his feet.

Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways at the beautiful brunette beside him who was biting nervously on her plump bottom lip, scratched at his temple, and then met the older couples' gazes across from them, first his boss' and then his boss' wife. "I'm afraid you're going to have to take our room, though, seeing as how it's the only bed in the house."

"Oh, we couldn't do that," Amanda protested, but _his wife _was quick to contradict her.

"Well, you're going to have to, because I refuse to let our guests sleep on the floor or the couch, and, don't worry," she guaranteed them. "Conveniently enough, I just put clean sheets on this morning, so everything's nice and fresh for you."

"If you're sure…"

"I'd just listen to her if I were you," he advised the petite blonde with the gray, hesitant eyes. Letting go of the twenty-two year old's hand beside him, he, instead, wrapped his suddenly free arm around her waist, allowing his fingers to rest contentedly on her hip, and pulled her closer to him while teasing, "trust me, if nothing else, Ellis is pretty stubborn. You do not want to argue with her."  


"Now, there's a man," Tom joked, winking at the younger couple, "who has his wife's number." And they all, with varying degrees of embarrassment, laughed softly before awkwardly moving to get ready for bed.

**XXXIII.**

The thunderstorm had come to a temporary ceasefire, but, with that calm, the humidity returned. Normally, for Elizabeth, the lingering stickiness of the summer months waning into fall would not be a problem. Always someone who enjoyed the sensation of her cool body buried under a heavy, warm mountain of blankets, she often slept in very little clothing, opting for camisoles and boy shorts, nightgowns that were no more than silk slips, and, sometimes, old, baggy t-shirts. However, when one was forced to share a rather surprisingly comfortable pallet with _their husband_, of all people,on the floor of their living room while guests slept blissfully away upstairs in _her_ bed, one tended to wear more clothing, resulting in an uncomfortable, inflamed restlessness.

Not that she could particularly blame her unpleasant situation on either the weather or her unusual nightly dress, for the solitary source of her distress was the man lounging peacefully beside her, arms crossed lazily behind his head and underneath his pillow. And it wasn't the fact that he was elbowing her in his unorthodox sleeping position, and, even if he did, at that point, the artist had a distinct hunch that she wouldn't particularly have minded; instead, what was keeping her awake, what was making it impossible for her to fall asleep, and what was making her feel entirely too overheated was the fact that not only was _her husband _sleeping beside, but, apparently, he also had a penchant for sleeping in very little clothing as well.

The bottom line was that she was laying just inches away from a self-assured, satisfied, snug, _shirtless_ Jason Morgan…

… And it was driving her to distraction.

It was one thing to realize that she had feelings for the man she lived with and do nothing about them when they were together in less intimate of situations. When they were working on the house or eating dinner together, she could remember that he was nothing more than her friend and that the most he would ever feel for her was camaraderie or maybe even protectiveness in an 'I think of her as my little sister' kind of way. However, sharing a bed with the former enforcer was not something she was prepared to do. It was too tempting, too taunting, because, despite the fact that she wanted more from him, not only was she probably unprepared and unready for such a thing, but the brunette also knew it was the very last thing on the older man's mind.

"You're thinking too loudly."

Taken aback by the sound of his voice filling the otherwise still and silent living room, she turned several degrees in his direction only to stumble over her words. "I… um… what?"

"Your head," Jason clarified, pointing momentarily to his own. "I can hear the wheels turning, and it's keeping me awake."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He chuckled at that. "Don't apologize, Webber. Just tell me what's got you so wound up."  


Her bright, round eyes immediately flared, and, even in the dark where there was no chance for him to see her, she knew that she blushed a deep shade of scarlet red. Chewing on her lip for several moments in contemplation, the college graduate finally offered, "I can't do that," as a means of an excuse. But she should have known better; she should have known that the blonde wouldn't let the subject drop that simply.

"Why not?"

Without thinking, she replied, "it's personal."

"I see," the onetime hitman remarked, all humor and ease fleeing his voice as his body because rigid beside her, and they fell into an awkward silence. Several long, unnerving minutes passed by, and Elizabeth believed that she was going to get a reprieve, that he was going to just let the topic go, but, as the man beside her started speaking again, apparently having taken his time to prepare a new strategic approach to whatever it was that was bothering her, she realized she was obviously mistaken. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Balking, she denied, "what? Of course not…"

"Elizabeth," he interrupted her, his voice soft with concern and care. "You don't have to hide with me, and I can tell that you're edgy. You're as far away from me as you can get…"

"I'm just trying to give you your space," she insisted, but they both knew that she was scrambling, that she was lying.

"And I can feel how tense you are even an arm's length away from me."

Was there really that much room between them? To the twenty-two year old, she felt as if they were practically sleeping one on top of the other, but, glancing across the pallet, she realized that Jason was right, but it still did nothing to relieve her anxiety. Reaching for something – anything to use an excuse, she finally settled on a cover, whispering her words in the vain hope the retired enforcer either wouldn't hear her or would get frustrated with her behavior and simply give up on her. "It's the storm."

"The storm stopped half an hour ago, Webber."

"Well, then, it's lingering tension," she exploded, finally twisting in the blankets to curl up on her side to face him. Gone was her apprehension; a spark of anger at his always rational, perpetually tranquil demeanor replaced it. "Would you just drop it so I can get to sleep?"

"I would, but, like I said," the blonde reiterated, smirking, "I can't with you thinking so loudly."

Sitting up and taking the blankets with her to clutch them against her flannel clad chest, the artist rolled her eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You can't possibly hear a person thinking."

But the only response Jason offered her was a shrug of his shoulders, an impossibly crooked grin, and the infuriating words, "with you, I can."

Huffing, she collapsed back onto her pillow, his light laughter making her want to grin 

despite herself. Finally, she relented, "alright, fine then. Tell me, All Powerful and Knowing One, just how exactly does my brain give itself away?"

"Your breathing is elevated, so that makes your heart rate speed up, and you're constantly shifting, causing the sheets to rustle, not to mention the fact that you mumble and growl sometimes under your breath, too, when you're really agitated."

Incredulous, Elizabeth argued, "I do not!"

She expected the man beside her to continue with his teasing, to grin or laugh at her outburst, but, instead, he became suddenly somber, leaning across the empty space between them so that he could meet her mirthful gaze with his own equally as sober expression. "I would never lie to you."

And, just like that, with his one, simple pronouncement, Jason Morgan, and not _her husband_, managed to strip away the majority of her defenses, and she found herself opening up to him. Wringing her petite fingers together to the point of almost pain, her confession came out in nearly a soundless murmur. "I've never…" Words trailing off, the brunette was forced to regroup, taking a deep breath before she pushed on. "I've never slept with a man before."

"You mean, you've never made love with a man before?"

Startling the twenty-two year old, at the sound of the words _made love_ leaving the former mob hitman's lips, she felt a surge of warmth spread throughout her body, reaching from her toes to the tips of her already burning ears, and it left her with an odd yet pleasurable tingling sensation. Swallowing past the awareness, though, she confessed, "that's not what I meant. I've actually never even shared a bed, platonic or otherwise, with a man, so… this, it's all kind of new to me. However, in the interest of full discloser," she continued, an acerbic, cruel edge entering her voice, "no, I've never had sex, though, either. After all, I was raped; I'm damaged goods. Why would any man want that, want me, right?"

Before he even said a word, she could hear the blonde beside her let out a jarring breath. She wasn't sure if it was due to frustration or uncertainty, displeasure or trepidation, but, as soon as he started speaking, all thought fled her mind. "First thing first, Elizabeth," Jason told her. "You have to remember that I'm not just some man. I'm your friend, and, if nothing else, you're safe with me."

Tentatively, the college graduate reached out, taking the onetime enforcer's left hand in her own right one and twining their fingers together gracefully, her soft, delicate digits seamlessly fitting with his rather blunt yet strong and calloused ones. "I know," she whispered, reassuring him about the fact that she did, indeed, trust him to protect her.

"As for everything else you said, technically I'm brain damaged, so, using your logic, does that mean that I should spend the rest of my life alone, too?"

"What," the artist gasped out, troubled and shocked by his train of thought. "Of course not, Jason. You… you're… there's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

"But there is actually," he argued, keeping their hands linked together but turning to roll onto stomach and bracing his body's weight on his free arm so he could look down upon her. "I don't process the world like everyone else does. Things, for me, are cut and dry, black and white; I can't see the gray in between. I really can't feel temperature extremes, I 

have no memory of my life before the accident, I don't dream, and, like I told you before, I can't see two dimensional objects."

"Okay," Elizabeth admitted, slowly accepting the things that he told her, "but your injury didn't affect the way you feel; it didn't affect your ability to love or to be loved."

"The doctors told me that it would."

"That's crazy," she argued, wrinkling her brow in confusion. "I mean, you've loved quite a few people, and they've loved you in return. Even I know that. There's your Grandmother, your sister, Robin, Carly, and, most of all, your son. Jason, if those doctors were right, then there's no way that you could have been a father to Michael. Whatever they told you about your injury, they were wrong. You're just… different than who you once were, not necessarily better or worse in anyway, just different."

"Exactly," the blonde agreed with her, squeezing her fingers gently. "And the same thing applies to you, too, Webber." When she went to argue, he pressed on, refusing to give her a chance to talk. "Before my accident, I was Jason Quartermaine, and, after my accident, I became Jason Morgan. We looked the same, but the experience changed who I was… just as your rape changed who you were. Before you were attacked, you were Elizabeth Webber, and, afterwards, despite the fact that, unlike me, you didn't change your name, you became a new, different person, not necessarily better or worse in anyway, just different."

She really hated that he used her own words against her, because, if she argued with him, she'd essentially be admitting that she was wrong, too, and, at least, on that issue, she was sure she was right. But he didn't give her much time to ponder his assertions, for he was already moving on to another point.

"You are a strong, intelligent, talented, compassionate, and beautiful woman, Elizabeth Webber, and _any man_ would be lucky to love you and to be loved by you."

Despite the fact that she knew it was shallow, the twenty-two year old's shattered pride and self-esteem latched onto the very last trait the older man beside her had attributed to her. "You think I'm beautiful?"

She tensed slightly when she felt his hand slide away from her own only to reach up and gently float across the apple of her cheek, but, after several entrancing seconds of his touch, she melted into his embrace, savoring the sensation of his work roughened fingers upon her baby soft skin.

Reverently, Jason whispered his response. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

The brunette flushed at the retired enforcer's compliment, but, because of the sincerity of his words and the way he was staring into her unblinking gaze so boldly, she couldn't find it within herself to argue with him, and, even if for just that one night, she wanted to believe that he honestly felt that way about her. Squirming down even further under the blankets, she shifted so that she was slightly closer to him before finally allowing her heavy lids to fall shut with the inevitable lull of sleep. However, before she allowed herself the pleasure of rest, there was one more thing she had to say.

"Thank you, Jason."

"For what," he asked softly, and she could hear the apparent confusion in his voice. Rejoining their hands together, he continued, "I didn't do anything."

Yawning, she smiled a secret smile in his direction, never once opening her eyes as she confided, "but you did. You definitely did."

And, that time, he didn't disagree with her.

**XXXIV.**

He had never been to a parade before, and, after just several minutes, he knew exactly why. They were a blaring, pastel colored, candy coated hell, and he stood out in the crowd like a sore thumb. Through dressed casually enough, it was obvious to the average observer that he was anything but comfortable in the situation. He refused to sit, he didn't clap or cheer as the various bands, fire trucks, and floats passed by, and, unlike everyone else, he didn't scramble to catch or gather the flying wares distributed by those walking in the ridiculous spectacle. However, if it meant supporting Elizabeth, then he would sit through a damn parade every single day of the week.

And he'd enjoy it, too.

Since their late night discussion several days before, nothing drastic had changed between them in their relationship, but he could still see some differences. The brunette was more relaxed around him physically, and, more importantly, she also seemed at ease with her own body as well. Although no glaring contrasts, he had noticed little variations in her appearance – she had taken to wearing more feminine pieces of clothing, flirty skirts, heels, and slightly lower cut tops, and her long, luxurious hair was constantly free and flowing down her regal back, driving Jason practically mad with distraction, for he wanted to feel its weight against his bare chest, and he wanted to run his hands through it, curling his fingers into its rich, thick locks to pull her closer to him, so he could kiss her. But he hadn't done so… yet.

She seemed happier, too, freer almost. The twenty-two year old smiled more, and, when she did so, the gesture actually reached her eyes, making the already hypnotizing, deep, endless pools of blue glitter wickedly as if she knew something no one else did, and he desperately wanted to be taken into her confidence. And she also laughed a lot now as well – a light, almost twinkling sound that could haunt him at any time and during any situation. At work, even the sound of the saws buzzing and the hammers flying rapidly against the wooden beams and iron nails did absolutely nothing to drown out the memories of _his wife's _amusement… not that he particularly wanted them to.

And, on top of everything else, today was the day. After weeks of waiting, his late night, spur of the moment plan was finally coming to fruition, and, just as soon as he could track the woman he lived with down after the parade, they were going to spend the entire day together at the carnival, even if he was on edge the entire time because of the massive crowds. He was determined to help Elizabeth have some fun, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she would be someone who would appreciate the ridiculously disgusting food, the rigged games, and the cheaply made and poorly assembled rides the festival had to offer.

Straightening, though, he pushed his thoughts aside, knowing that he needed to be on guard and not distracted that day. The parade and then the fair that followed it would be the perfect opportunity for someone to sneak up upon them, taking them by surprise, and, 

before he could do anything to protect himself and, more importantly, protect Elizabeth, they would already be in, perhaps, lethal danger, and he refused to allow that to happen.

"Just wait until you see our float this year, Didi," an elderly woman sitting before him in her lawn chair gushed. The former enforcer knew who all the women were. In his own way, he had researched each and every one of them as soon as he found out _his wife_ was going to be in contact with them. In fact, he was pretty sure that he was aware of more of their dirty laundry than even Ms. Northam, their interfering neighbor, was, but, unlike the old maid, he didn't care about such things. "Ellis did such a wonderful job."

"After all the money I sunk into that rickety wagon you old birds call a float, it better be worthy of the stinkin' Rose Parade, Evelyn Shepherd. I can't believe I let you girls talk me into sponsoring you this year."

"Oh, stop your complaining," the one named Cate ordered, her tone brokering absolutely no room for argument. "You and I both know that designing and working on the float was good for Ellis. It got her creative juices flowing."

"And one can only hope that that creativity was used in other aspects of her life as well," Renee Mortenson added, and Jason found himself wondering if the two of them always spoke in correlation with each other. "Has she said anything to you, Didi, about their efforts to get pregnant?"

"Oh, you know Ellis – as quiet as a church mouse and just as bashful, too. Whenever I bring up the subject of babies or motherhood, she just blushes and changes the topic, so you know what that means. Either she and Jack have quite the sex life or practically none at all."

He couldn't help himself – he snorted in response to the floral shop owner's comments. Whether it was any of their business or not, the fact remained that, if he and Elizabeth ever got the chance to have a sex life together, he knew that it would be amazing. There was no debating that fact.

"What about you, Betsy," Evelyn suggested, turning to look at the spinster. "Have you noticed any new developments recently with your trusty binoculars?"

"Hogwash," his neighbor dismissed, and the former hitman found himself blanching at the very thought of what might come out of her mouth next. "With those two, I don't even need my binoculars. They're obvious enough as it is."

It was Cate's turn to urge the busybody on. "Obvious about what?"

"Their mating habits." Sighing, he dropped his face in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. How _his wife_ put up with these old biddies, he had no idea. But Betsy continued on without pause or embarrassment. "She's been strutting herself lately, dressing like a right fine hussy, if you ask me."

Now, that, Jason felt, was taking things _way _too far. Just as he was about to step in, though, to defend the young artist, the oldest member of their little group beat him to the punch. "Oh, shut up, Northam," Evelyn snapped. "Just because we all don't strive for more coverage than a nun, that does not make us hussies. You're just jealous, because Ellis found someone to love, someone who loves her in return, and you're far too miserable for anyone to even like you."  


Renee took up the torch, picking up where Mrs. Shepherd left off. Giggling, she whispered loudly, almost in a conspiratorial manner, "I've seen the way Jack Martin looks at his wife, and, let me tell you, it wouldn't surprise me if he could impregnate her with just wishful thinking alone."

_Now_, these old ladies were finally getting somewhere. _This_ he could enjoy eavesdropping on.

"And Ellis," Cate added, as always. "She practically glows whenever her husband is around.

"Speaking of said spouse," Evelyn teased before turning around to face him. "Oh, Jack," she pretended to be surprised. "I didn't even know you were standing there. Have you been listening to us women talk this whole time?"

He smirked, neither confirming nor denying her inquiry, and her merry laughter washed over him for a moment. Looking at the widowed grandmother before him, he couldn't help but notice all the physical and perhaps even personality similarities she shared with his own grandmother. Just like Lila, she was petite and frail, but there was still a spunk to her, an inner strength, and the two elderly women shared a comparable likeness with their pale complexion, white hair, and shining, crystal blue eyes as well.

"Tell me, dear," she pushed him, changing the subject. "Does Ellis have a bun in the oven yet?"

And, despite her candor and penchant for saying things the Quartermaine matriarch would never utter in polite society, Jason was thrust back into a time in his life he hadn't thought about in months.

_Sneaking into the mansion he only visited to see his grandmother or his sister, the stealth enforcer crept hurried through the twisting, intersecting corridors, eventually making his way to Lila's private sitting room. He knew that he would find the elderly woman there at this hour, having tea by herself, for all the other Quartermaines would be off at work during the afternoon, so he had purposely rearranged his schedule for a small gap of free time to fit with the slight window of opportunity. Knocking softly on her closed door, he entered the daintily furnished room after hearing her announce that whoever was at the door could come in, and, as soon as she saw it was her wayward grandson, Lila smiled, beckoning him to move closer to her._

_He kneeled down beside her chair, taking one of her frail and gnarled yet still beautiful hands in both of his own, kissing it softly. "Hello, Grandmother."_

_"Jason, this is such a wonderful surprise. How are you?"_

_"I'm…" His words trailed off, as he was unsure as to how he should respond. Normally, he just told the elderly woman that he was fine, never offering her any more information about his life, for, most of what he could tell her, he knew would scare or disappoint her._

_"What is it, dear? Is something wrong?"_

_"No, nothing's wrong," the hitman offered his reassurance, smiling awkwardly. "In fact, well, something good has happened, or, at least, I think it's good." Letting go of her hand, he reached one of his own up to scratch nervously at his temple, averting his gaze from his _

_curious grandmother's. "Carly… a friend of mine… is pregnant."_

_"A new, precious life is always a wonderful thing."_

_"Maybe," he acknowledged, shrugging his shoulders distractedly. "But, her baby, it's mine." Glancing up to relock their matching blue eyes together, Jason clarified, "I'm going to be a father."_

Smiling wistfully at the memory of his past, the now retired enforcer was pleasantly surprised to realize that the reminiscence which would have easily paralyzed him with regret and sorrow just two months before didn't hurt nearly as much now, and, refocusing on all the garden club members before him, he finally addressed Evelyn's question. "You'd have to ask Ellis, but, then again, you're not allowed to harass her about our private life anymore, are you? I wonder what she would think of you turning the heat up on me instead."

"Now, don't you go ratting us out to your wife," Betsy warned him with a glare. "We don't need her bristling up like an angry porcupine on us anytime soon."

"After all," Cate teased the only member of their group to never have been married, "you have the market for bristling up like an angry porcupine cornered around here, don't you, Northam?"

Everyone but his neighbor started laughing, and then they started bickering back and forth, the whole lot of them sounding like an angry herd of bellowing moose if you asked him. But they didn't, and, at that particular moment, he really didn't care. Rather, he was quite pleasantly distracted by _his wife_ walking past with the garden club's float. He had already seen the designs for the decorated hay wagon several times, even going so far as to make a few helpful suggestions when it came time to actually constructing the thing, so he really wasn't concerned about the eight foot by eight foot, perfectly round chicken wire pumpkin adorned entirely with live flowers in various hues of orange, red, and yellow. And he didn't see the kids – grandchildren of the women in the club – who were dressed up in costumes to portray the different characters from _Charlie Brown_, costumes Elizabeth designed and help make. No, what he saw was Snoopy – all five foot, two inches of the adorable, black and white dog.

And, if he said so himself, Snoopy was kind of sexy, too, or, at least, the woman he knew to be underneath the full costume was decidedly so.

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he prepared to leave, only getting a few steps away when a voice called out behind him, vying for his attention. "And just where do you think you're going, Jack Martin," Didi wanted to know. "The parade's not over yet."

"It is for me," he replied simply.

"But you at least have to stay and see our float," Renee argued.

"And your wife," Cate affixed.

"Your float already went past, and _my wife_, well… She was the best part about it."

Chuckling softly to himself as the five women angrily burst out in irritation with each other for distracting them from the parade, he quickly slipped away from the bustling, cheering crowd, determined to be at the end of the route waiting for Elizabeth when she got there. 

They had the beautiful, late September day to spend together, and he had his plan to surprise her with that evening. With a spring in his step the retired hitman had only just recently discovered he had in the first place while being in the presence of the twenty-two year old artist on a day-to-day basis, he set out to track down the woman who was always on his mind, intent on making sure that, for, at least, that Saturday, she returned his fascination.

**XXXV.**

Of all the possible ways she could have imagined ending the day, it was certainly not throwing up, and, to make matters worse, she had even managed to get some of the mess on, of all people, Jason Morgan's shoes.

He deserved it, though, for it was his fault that she got sick in the first place, and, of course, because he was a big, bad, indomitable former enforcer, he, obviously, wouldn't get queasy from circus rides. But she did, all because he had tricked her into riding with him. She would have been perfectly content to just eat. After all, despite being little, she could pack in more food than someone twice her size if she really wanted to, and, in her opinion, there was nothing quite as greasily delicious as carnival junk food. Between arriving at the Fall Festival and deciding to take a spin on both the Gravatron and the Tilt-a-Whirl, she had, somehow, managed to consume two corn dogs, a stick of cotton candy, several slushies, a candy apple, a gyro, a steak sandwich, and an elephant ear, all the while playing games and winning unnecessary but still desirable stuffed animals that she made _her husband _carry around for her.

But then she had been dared, challenged even, by the man she lived with who taunted her into riding the two fast, spinning rides with him by asking her if she was too chicken to do so. Of course, just as the blonde knew it would, that got the preferred response from her, and they had proceeded to take several turns on both rotating machines. While riding, the artist had squealed with excitement and mirth, enjoying herself, but, as soon as they stopped, her stomach continued to roll, and she had been forced to seek out the nearest restroom.

Surprising her, the retired hitman followed her right into the ladies' room, much to the chagrin of several other women, collapsed onto his knees beside her, and proceeded to hold her hair back for her while she threw up. The vomit that ended up on his boots came between bouts of being sick when she felt as if she might have succeeded in reaching equilibrium again, but, as the mess on his shoes proved, she had been wrong, but Jason never complained or even appeared perturbed. Rather, she could tell that he felt bad for fooling her into riding with him, and his concern almost made feeling so wretched for nearly fifteen minutes worth it. Almost.

However, afterwards, she went back to her normal self, and, as they made their way towards the exhibition hall at his insistence, she even made the onetime enforcer stop to buy her some homemade taffy. She was happily snacking away on the sticky candy when they entered the room that displayed all the locally submitted art, but, when she saw a sketch of _her husband_ hanging on display, a plaque above it boldly declaring it the 'Best in 

Show,' when she saw one of _her own_ sketches of _her husband _hanging before her, she stopped in shock, the cinnamon flavored sweet falling from her hand to land at her sandaled feet.

"Oh my god."

Glancing up at the blonde beside her, she found his head cocked to the side, a puzzled expression marring his otherwise tan and handsome features. Obviously, he had not been expecting the sight either.

"I don't…" The sentence trailed off as she swallowed, ran a distracted hand through her rich, chocolate waves, and then tried to talk once again. "How did this get here?"

A stranger – the woman who was watching the display room - approached them, a warm, welcoming smile illuminating her face as she held out a hand towards Elizabeth. "I take it you're Ellis Martin? Amanda described you to me, you and your husband both, and I've been anticipating meeting you since she brought your late entry in two days ago. You're a very talented, young artist, Mrs. Martin."

Ignoring the proffered hand and the compliment, she stared at the unfamiliar person before her. "Amanda entered my sketch, but how…"

The slightly older lady laughed. "She told me that she swiped it from your house a few days ago when she was there for dinner. You have to watch that woman. She's as sneaky and conniving as they come but always in a kind manner. "Your other pieces did well, too, all of them earning top honors in their category."

"What other pieces?"

"Why the ones your husband entered for you, of course."

Snapping her head up to look at Jason, he met her gaze tentatively, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You don't mind, do you? I just… your drawings are good, really good, and I thought that it wasn't fair that I, of all people, was the only one to see them."

Placing a reassuring hand on his bare forearm, she squeezed the muscle readily present there and smiled broadly, appreciatively up at the man she lived with. "I think it was a really… sweet… thing for you to do for me," and she nearly started laughing out loud when his nose visibly wrinkled at her choice of words. Turning back to the stranger, she addressed the woman politely. "If you'll excuse us, my husband and I would like to look around, but thank you for the congratulations… and the award."

"Oh, I had nothing to do with that, besides placing my vote for the piece as well. 'Best in Show' is awarded to the picture or drawing that gets the most votes from those who come in and look at the displays, and everybody loved your sketches, especially the one of Mr. Martin."  


With a nod in the woman's direction, the twenty-two year old pulled Jason off to the side with her, waiting until she was sure they were alone before she started talking quietly to him. "Well, this explains a lot."

"It does?"

"The way you've been acting these past few weeks," she expanded, smirking at him. "I knew you were up to something, but I just couldn't figure out what."

Elizabeth could tell by the slight flare of his cobalt irises that she had caught him off guard. "You knew?"

Tinting an attractive shade of pink, she confessed, "I watch you sometimes, especially now that I'm drawing again, and you're not as unreadable as you think you are."

"Well, why didn't you say something; why didn't you ask me about it?"

"I knew that you'd tell me when you were ready to," the brunette shared, offering the onetime hitman a gentle smile. "And you've always been patient with me, so I just wanted to return the favor. Now," she instructed, taking his arm and weaving her own through it, "show me which pieces you picked out. I'm curious to see which ones you liked the best."

"Well, they weren't all necessarily my favorites," Jason responded as he guided her through the large room filled with hundreds of different drawings, photographs, and paintings, "because I tried to pick ones that were… vague?"

"Safe, you mean," she interrupted his statement, gathering the meaning behind his rather curious choice of words. "Do you think that the sketch Amanda submitted will cause problems for us?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," _her husband_ reassured her, letting go of her arm to wrap his around her waist, pulling her even more snugly into his side. "After all, how much media coverage could a little Fall Festival receive around here?"

And what he said made sense, so she pushed her worry out her mind and just continued to enjoy the rest of their evening together. Eventually, they left the fair after spending several hours in the display hall, taking in not only the art room but also the produce, the baked goods, the sewing, the crafts, and the flower arrangement room. Laden down with both her stuffed animals and her trophy for 'Best in Show,' Jason offered to help her to the car, resulting in him giving her a piggy back ride to their SUV. It was the most carefree Elizabeth had felt since even before the night of her rape, and she found herself hoping that they never had to leave Dovetree… even if that meant she remained Ellis Martin for the rest of her life, always in hiding, always living a lie, always one step ahead of fatal danger, because life with Jason Morgan as _her husband_, as her friend, as, maybe, someday, her more than friend, was worth any threat.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hello readers! It's 91 degrees here with humidity out the wazoo, and I'm braving my laptop to write and post an update. Love me? I actually like weather like this, but it's a whole different story to hold a veritable oven on my legs. :p Also, just to let you know, there is no flashback in this part, but it'll be obvious to you as to why I didn't include one once you've read it. Anyway, enjoy!_

Charlynn

**Part Ten**

**XXXVI.**

Adjectives were tricky words. Oftentimes, there were underlying meanings behind them, special connotations, and even double entendres that a person had to consider before ascribing a certain description to either a thing or another individual. For example, while the dictionary said that 'nice' was a good, pleasant adjective, all artists knew that it was the kiss of death. It was the same way with the word 'handsome.' Men knew to never illustrate their significant others with that word, and women knew it was one of the few adjectives most men wouldn't protest. Certain descriptions fit better with certain genders, and there seemed to be unspoken rules about such things in relationships.

However, occasionally, if someone was truly lucky in their lifetime, they came across either a man or a woman who didn't fit the social norm. Words otherwise used for people of their class, of their sex, wouldn't work for them, or they were those extremely rare individuals who could support any and every adjective no matter what the implications behind that word may be. For the first twenty-three years of Elizabeth Webber's life, she had been completely oblivious to this fact. For her, men were in one category, and women were in another, but, as she entered the kitchen she shared with Jason Morgan that early winter morning, she realized she had been wrong.

Because her husband broke every single rule and mold.

He wasn't just handsome; he was beautiful. It was in the gracefulness of his movements, in his quiet, restrained, peaceful nature, in the knowing light that tinged the corners of his breathtakingly clear blue eyes. It was in the very contradictions his body embraced – his rough, work calloused hands that were gentler than even a first time mother's, in his comforting, protective aura despite his otherwise intimidating stature. And Elizabeth knew that she loved him all the more because of those things.

However, she was not ready to confess such a secret to the man she lived with, despite the fact that his recent behavior made her pause in consideration. Finally, after several months' time, she had come to accept the fact that the former enforcer at least cared about her, but she wasn't quite sure what exactly that word meant. Care was such an ambiguous expression. While you could care for your spouse, you could also care about what happened to the stray cat that lived on your block, and, in a man so emotionally guarded… or, perhaps, it was simply because she was a woman foreign to the intimate workings of a sexual relationship, she was incapable of reading the signs supposedly there that could tell her exactly what her blonde roommate felt for her.

He was certainly kind to her – always doing small, seemingly unimportant things to make her feel special or even appreciated. As more time passed, he seemed to smile more in her company, laugh, but that could have just been because she herself was beginning to loosen up around him. After all, Jason put her at ease, made her feel comfortable in her own skin, so, when they were together, she seemed to blossom open like a day lily. She knew they were friends, that the onetime hitman was not simply watching out for her because he had to anymore, but she had no idea if he could ever possibly want something more from her, with her, and, if he did, would it just be sex? After all, while she might not have been on the dating scene herself when they were both still living in Port Charles, she had certainly heard the rumors about the man she lived with, and they gave her pause.

Not only was Jason Morgan a known womanizer, but he had also been in two unsuccessful 

relationships, so she feared there would be nothing about her that could make him want to try a third time. But, then, there were moments… like that morning… when he would do or say something and make her feel so special, so wanted, that even all her insecurities had a hard time being logical. The fact was that she wanted him to want her the same way that she wanted him, and, wishful thinking or not, she was starting to believe she might have a chance. It could have just been a symptom of his cabin fever, of his restlessness from being forced to live a normal, suburban life, but, at that point, Elizabeth was prepared to take whatever she could get.

Already having been up early, it was obvious that _her husband _had planned something for them. There were two piles of winter clothes folded neatly on the kitchen table – long johns, coveralls, down jackets, hats, scarves, gloves, boots, one for her and one for him, and he had even prepared them breakfast, seemingly going about his actions in an effortless, thoughtful manner as he made coffee, boiled hot chocolate, and baked her favorite chocolate muffins, all the while talking on the phone. Leaning against the door jam, she listened as the blonde several yards away from her called them both of work for various, different reasons and then placed a mysterious call to someone to make sure that whatever it was he had ordered would be delivered on time. She smiled to herself, a warm, delicious smile that curled her very toes comfortably confined in her furry slippers, the happy expression in response to the fact that, whatever it was her roommate was up to, he was doing it for her. Also, it didn't hurt matters either that he was planning on them spending the entire day together.

As he hung up the phone, the retired enforcer turned to the oven, removing the muffin pan with his potholder encased hands, bumping the door closed with his hip, and then, with a swift flick of his wrist, turning the appliance off. "You know," Jason spoke up for the first time, his deep, baritone of a voice causing her to jump slightly in surprise, for she had believed her surveying of him had been done in secret, "you could actually come in and sit down."

And she did. With pink tinged cheeks, she took her seat at the kitchen table, sliding the new, winter clothes he had set out for her to the side so that there was an empty place setting before her. Silently, _her husband _continued to work, pouring them both mugs of their respective morning beverages and then plucking a still steaming muffin onto a small dish for her. Taking the chair across from her, he followed suit, sliding his own clothes to the right before taking a hearty gulp of his strong, black coffee. Even as she slowly tore off a piece of her breakfast, their gazes never once left each other.

"So, how long exactly were you standing there, spying on me?"

She protested, feebly, balking in mock indignation. "I was not spying."

"You weren't?"

"It does not count as spying if you happen to just wander down into your own kitchen to find the man you live with already there and busy," the young artist defended fiercely. "And it wasn't like you were whispering. There was no 'do not disturb' sign hanging on the door… or the doorway, the lights were on, so how was I to know that you wanted your privacy?"

He smiled at her then – a slow, lazy, and, if she didn't know better, flirtatiously crooked smile, and, suddenly, it felt as if the temperature in the room had spiked twenty degrees in just as many seconds. "You can always disturb me," he then proceeded to tease her, his striking cobalt eyes dancing with merriment and wit. "Morning, noon, or night, Webber, 

please," he invited cheekily. "Please, search me out anytime you want."

"I was not spying on you!"

The onetime hitman shrugged, a careless gesture meant to taunt her, but she refused to take the bait. So, instead, the college graduate squared her own shoulders, folder her hands primly in front of her, and proceeded to stare him down. "And, besides," Elizabeth argued. "You were talking about me at one point. I heard my name, and it sounded like you were talking to Didi. Did you call me off of work?"

Unrepentantly, he admitted, "I did. I told her that, because of the snow storm, there were things I have to do today, so I wouldn't be going to work, and I didn't want you walking in this weather."

"I see. So you lied," the brunette offered, smirking. "I didn't think you did that."

"I don't, and I didn't," the man sitting adjacent from her returned vaguely. "I do have things to do today because of the weather."

Without conscious thought, she felt her mood suddenly plummet. The smile that had been previously curling her full lips upwards fell into a frown, her deep, sapphire irises lost some of their sparkle, and her entire form slumped slightly in dejection. "Oh."

And, even if Jason could tell that his statement had depressed her, he didn't let on. Rather, he simply lifted his coffee cup, once again, and, after taking a generous drink, refocused his attention upon her. Blithely, almost as if he was simply asking her if she'd hand him the morning paper, he announced, "I thought that we could spend the day together."

"What?" Snapping to attention, her previous melancholy forgotten, the recently turned twenty-three year old inquired, "really?"

"Well, you like the snow, don't you?" She nodded, not yet ready to give voice to her own thoughts, but the blonde accepted the gesture as a response and proceeded on. "And I like going fast… which you already know, so I thought we'd combine the two things. Plus, I've been meaning to talk to you about something important now for quite a while. Why put off for another day what I can do this afternoon, right?"

Slowly, drawing out her remark, Elizabeth agreed, "right," only to cock her head in obvious confusion. "So, what exactly are we doing?"

"I rented us a snow mobile for the day."

Grinning, she excitedly admitted, "oh, I've never been on one before." But, then, she remembered his warning that he wanted to talk to her about something, and, if the former hitman had been procrastinating about doing so, then it had to be about something serious, and she was instantly worried. "What do you have to talk to me about?" He stood up, evidently not wanting to delve into the topic just yet, but she followed him, pushing back her chair, her breakfast forgotten and rapidly cooling, to dog his every step as he set out to wash the few dirty dishes he had made. "Is it bad news? Did something happen? No one's found us, have they? You're not mad at me, are you, because, if you are, I really don't know what I did? I mean, sure, sometimes I forget to put the lid back on the toothpaste, and I'm bad about using all the gas in the car and not refueling, but those are little things, and you never get mad at me for them… right?"  


Chuckling, the man she lived with turned around, taking her by the shoulders in an effort to get her to stop talking. "Relax, it's nothing necessarily bad."

Sarcastically, under her breath, she mumbled, "yeah, and that's comforting."

But he just ignored her. "As far as I know, we're still safe, and, if we weren't, do you honestly think I'd be taking outside where we're not protected by bullet proof windows and reinforced doors?"

Rolling her eyes at her own naïveté, the brunette artist admitted, "no."

"And this thing – what it is that I want to tell you, well, it's just the truth… about me." At her troubled expression, Jason expanded, "about my past. Now, stop worrying and get ready to go." When she went to protest, he kept talking, never giving her a chance to get a word or an argument in edgewise. "Finish your breakfast, and I'll pack what's left up to take with us. I know how you like to have a snack around ten o'clock every morning. And, then, get dressed. I'll meet you outside in half an hour, because that's when the sled is being delivered, okay?"

At that point, she just quit trying to fight him. After all, who was she kidding? She was too excited to focus on her nerves, too excited to worry about what it was _her husband _had to talk to her about, so, instead, she smiled up at the blonde standing before her, pivoted around on her toes, and snatched up her partially eaten muffin and clothes, dashing through the hallway, into the living room, and then up the stairs before she could even entertain the idea of having a second thought.

If her roommate wanted to spend the day with her, she'd be there, at his side, with bells on… and he'd pretend that those figurative bells annoyed him every step of the way.

**XXXVII.**

He knew that he should have been hungry. After all, other than the coffee he had been drinking off and on all morning, he hadn't consumed any nourishment whatsoever since the night before. But he wasn't. And he knew that Elizabeth was hungry, for she always was, but she wasn't eating her lunch either. And, despite the fact that he knew both of their missing appetites were caused by the conversation he wanted to have but just couldn't seem to start, Jason was in no hurry to talk.

After riding along the various trails and paths that crisscrossed all throughout Dovetree and then connected their adopted town to the various outlying villages and communities surrounding them, they had stopped at an out of the way diner in the hopes that no one they knew would spot them there. Their waitress had seated them in an intimate table for two in a dark corner of the restaurant, and they had placed their orders after having browsed the menus in near to total silence, awkward silence which, in and of itself, was unsettling, for he and brunette he lived with, at that point, were hardly ever uncomfortable around each other anymore. And, now, with their food in front of them, they sat in silent contemplation, Jason staring at his cheese burger and fries, and _his wife _distractedly pushing around the chili in the bowl placed before her, her grilled cheese sandwich completely untouched.

When she cleared her throat, presumably to speak, he did so as well, but, then, once again, they both went back to pretending the other wasn't there or just as anxious as they were. It 

finally took Elizabeth going to stand on the premise of needing to use the restroom for him to speak up, and, reaching across the table, the onetime enforcer took the twenty-three year old's hand in his, the simple gesture acting as both a plea for her to sit back down and a promise that he was, ready or not, going to talk to her.

"I, um, well, thanks, I guess," he started off, reaching up with his free hand to tug nervously at his earlobe, "for not pushing me."

Kindly, her face softened into a gentle smile as she murmured, "of course."

But that's when he froze. Unaccustomed to opening himself up emotionally, Jason simply sat there, brow scrunched up into a fine web of worried lines until the woman he lived with squeezed the hand he had laced with her own and suggested, "why don't you start somewhere safe."

"Safe?"

"Yeah," she encouraged, shrugging in a somewhat embarrassed manner. "Tell me about something that it doesn't hurt you to remember."

And so he did.

"Did you know Robin?"

"Robin Scorpio," the petite artist asked for clarification, "your ex-girlfriend? Actually, no, I don't think we've ever officially met. I mean, sure – I've seen her around. Port Charles is a small town, after all, and we seemed to have some people in common, you being one of them, but I've never had a conversation with her. No one's ever introduced us."

"She was the first person I trusted after my accident," Jason shared, pushing his plate of food aside to settle back at ease in his small chair. Crossing one arm over his chest to rub distractedly at his own shoulder, he continued. "We met randomly one night... on a bridge. She was upset, missing her boyfriend, and I was just angry at everything – at the Quartermaines, at my situation, at myself. And, I guess, we… What do people call it? Clicked? Connected?"

"Her boyfriend," the college graduate asked. "You're talking about Stone Cates, right?"

Nodding to reinforce his confirmation, the former enforcer said, "yeah."

But, without pushing him, Elizabeth moved their conversation along. "So, then, you guys started dating after that?"

"Not right away. At first, we were just friends. She'd talk to me like I was a real person and not just someone who was either brain damaged or needed coddling like a child, and I think I was an escape from her."

"Because you couldn't remember, Stone and the disease he died from meant nothing to you, so, to you, Robin was just another random girl. You didn't treat her like a china doll or try to protect her when the two of you spent time together," _his wife _realized, not needing him to detail every last nuance for her. And he appreciated her intuitiveness, for he wasn't sure he would be able to explain some things about his former life as easily as she could.

Falling silent, once again, he recollected himself, knowing that they needed to progress the story to the next stage, or they would be there all day. "Robin was the one who actually introduced me to Sonny. They knew each other through Stone, and I guess she wanted us to get to know each other as well. Sonny, apparently, saw something in me, gave me a job, and, well, you know how that turned out."

"Do you..." Whatever it was that Elizabeth was going to ask him, she stopped, shaking her head as if to dismiss the very idea.

"You can say it, you know. You can say or ask me anything you want to."

"It's stupid, really," the twenty-three year old dismissed before sharing with him her previously ignored inquiry, "but I was just curious if you ever blamed Robin, resented her, for everything that eventually happened between you and Sonny?"

"No," the blonde easily answered. "She had no idea that introducing two of her friends would lead to so much pain and betrayal."

"So, then, what eventually broke the two of you up?"

Reaching out his free hand, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that his other was still very much linked with that of the woman sitting across from him, Jason brought his tall glass of iced tea to his lips, taking a liberal drink before pressing on. "We just wanted different things, I guess. Robin wanted to go to school, she wanted to become a doctor, and my life, good or bad, was firmly in Port Charles with Sonny and the mob."

"And, at that point, you were too far in to get out," the artist offered, showing him that she understood. "So, did you part amicably?"

"Not exactly," he admitted, scratching the side of his face in thought. "I think that she was disappointed in me and annoyed with the fact that I wouldn't even try to change for her."

"But you shouldn't have had to."

"Maybe so, but things rarely work out that way. Anyway," he sighed. "We broke up, Robin went off to college, and it was around that same time that…"

"That I entered Sonny's life," the brunette finished for him, "and that we met." Apparently, though, Elizabeth didn't want to focus on that part of his history, because she quickly rushed past it and changed the subject. "You also started things with Carly around that same time, too, didn't you?"

Now that they were already so deep into the conversation, discussing the very people that he previously felt would bother him wasn't so hard, and the onetime enforcer rolled his eyes at the very mention of his ex. "Started is kind of a stretch. Carly was supposed to be a one night stand."

Giggling and blushing despite herself, he watched as _his wife_ struggled not to laugh. "What was with that – her – anyway? I just, the two of you together… It makes absolutely no sense to me."

"Carly was… Carly was fun," Jason found himself supplying in answer, but it was also not sufficient enough of an explanation. So, regretfully, he admitted, "she was also easy – just a 

girl I met in a bar one night, no strings, no commitment, simple. Sleeping with her was supposed to help take my mind off everything in my life that was falling apart."

"Such as?"

"Such as my working relationship with Sonny," he responded. Casting his gaze temporarily away from the woman sitting across from him, the blonde explained. "After what happened between the two of us down on the island, I started noticing some things about Sonny. He didn't trust me as much as I thought he did, he seemed to question me more often, and he certainly didn't like the fact that the men sometimes would go to me for instructions or advice instead of him. A few months later, that's when he started to openly almost provoke me. He knew how being around you or even hearing about you made me feel uncomfortable."

Finally meeting her expression again, he confessed, "not a day has gone by since I attacked you that night on the beach when I haven't felt regret for my actions, and Sonny knew this, but, nonetheless, he seemed to enjoy aggravating me with your presence in his life. I don't know if he was testing me, or if he was trying to push me too far to see what my reaction would be, but, to say that things became strained between us would be a definite understatement. While we were never friends, somewhere along the lines, we became enemies, and I was just so caught up in the other areas of my life that I missed the signs, and it ended up costing me."

"Alright, so back to Carly…"

Thankful that Elizabeth had moved them away from the hardest part of his story back to a safer issue, he offered her a small grin before explaining. "Three months after our one night together at Jake's, she showed up at my penthouse, telling me that she was pregnant. I took her in, I gave her a place to stay, and, in our own way, we attempted a relationship."

Timidly, _his wife _brought up a question he could tell she really didn't want to ask. He could feel her apprehension in the hand he held within his own. Her skin became suddenly clammy, and her fingers fairly trembled. "Did you ever…" Blowing out a harsh breath, the expelled air causing her hair to fan out slightly around her face, she tried again. "Did you ever consider the fact that you might not have been Michael's father? I mean, if Carly was willing to sleep around with you, then she was probably willing to do so with a lot of others guys, too."

"I did," Jason admitted. "But then I held him for the first time, and all those doubts disappeared. I just… I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That he was my son," he answered, shrugging because even he realized how ridiculous his reasoning sounded. "I guess I could just feel it."

Offering him a wide, gorgeous smile, the artist confessed, "I think that's beautiful," and he found himself grimacing at the word he used to describe his actions, making her laugh heartily. Sobering quickly, though, she refocused on their conversation, grasping his hand tightly to draw them both back to the topic at hand. "Now, tell me about this attempted relationship."

He couldn't help it. He smirked. "It was a disaster. Carly wanted me to love her, but I just 

couldn't. However, I also kept her there with me, hanging onto hope, because I didn't want her to take Michael and go off with some other guy. It didn't do any good, though, in the long run."

With a perplexed expression on her face, the brunette adjacent to him asked, "what do you mean?"

"I don't know if they had honest feelings for each other, or if it was Sonny, once again, trying to needle me, or if it was Carly just overreacting and trying to hurt me in return, but, supposedly, she saw me introducing Michael to Robin one day at Kelly's. She was home from school, because it was her winter break, and, at that point, we were both well over our relationship and ready to be friends, but Carly must have misinterpreted what she saw, and she ran off and slept with Sonny." Elizabeth's slight gasp told him of her shock, but she didn't interrupt him with any questions or a comment, so he rushed on to get the rest of his story out as painlessly as possible.

"She ended up pregnant, and, the next thing I know, Sonny set me up. He sent me to a meeting he himself was supposed to attend, I got shot, and he left me there to die. Luckily, someone, Agent Maloney, actually, who was in Port Charles in an attempt to gather information on Sonny, found me, got me help, and saved my life. It took me nearly two months to recover, though, because, while I was down from the bullet wound, I also got pneumonia, and, by the time I was up and moving again, Michael was dead – a car bomb, and Sonny and Carly were married."

Without expression, he pressed on. "Because of Sonny's selfishness, my son was murdered, and I had nothing waiting for me back in Port Charles, nothing to go home to. Bill offered me an out, told me, if I were to turn evidence against Sonny, they'd help me start over again, so here I am."

"Jason…"

Gruffly, he tugged his hand away from hers and went to take a bite of his burger. "You should eat before your food gets cold," the retired enforcer directed, never once meeting the twenty-three year old's gaze.

"It's already cold, and I really don't care about that right now. All this time," she breathed out in amazement, face wide and open with shock and dismay. "All this time, I've been feeling sorry for myself, treating you horribly, and acting as if the world owed me, and you've just let me feel and say whatever I wanted, never once talking about your own pain or loss. Jason, I… I had no idea that your son died."

"Elizabeth, I didn't tell you all this to make you feel bad or guilty."

"Well, I know that," the college graduate assured him, "but that still doesn't stop me from feeling that way. And, what's worse, is that I'm still not ready to confide in you yet."

"That's okay."

"No," she argued, shaking her head to exaggerate her words. "It's not. I want to, and I'm going to, but not today."

"Today, tomorrow, next week, hell, next year," the blonde reassured her. "There's no pressure."  


"You don't have to say that," she whispered, glancing up at him through thick, smoky lashes. "But thank you anyway."

Comforting her, he retook her hand in his own, squeezing it. "I meant it."

And he did, too. It didn't matter how long it took Elizabeth until she was ready to tell him her own story, even if he had to wait the rest of his life, he would still be there. However, he just wasn't sure she was ready for him to say such a thing to her yet, so, instead, he went back to his lunch, just as she did, and the second silence that enveloped them in the little diner was much more comfortable than the first… just as it should be between them.

**XXXVIII.**

By the time they got back that evening, it was dark, and another front had already moved in to assault the small, rural, tourist town. Hurrying inside, Elizabeth stripped out of her wet clothes, leaving them in a messy, frozen pile on the basement floor, while Jason stayed outside to put the snow mobile away in the garage. In just her bra and panties, she ran upstairs to take a warm shower, rushing so that it would be open and ready by the time the man she lived with finished and came in. Clad in her warmest pair of winter pajamas, the artist made her way back downstairs just in time to greet _her husband _who, making her blush, had apparently had the very same idea she had.

But she wouldn't let him fluster her. Waving a dishtowel in his nearly naked direction, the twenty-three year old refused to look at the former hitman, instead focusing on her task at hand. "Go upstairs and take a long, hot shower," she instructed him, busying herself with various things around the kitchen. For once, she had every intention of actually cooking him a meal. "I know I was freezing fifteen minutes ago, and your body protected mine during most of our ride. You have to be a solid sheet of human ice."

"I actually don't feel temperature extremes, remember?"

Rolling her eyes and still refusing to meet the blonde's, she strode across the few steps separating them, placing her warm hands on his bone chilling chest. "Trust me, Jason," the college graduate promised. "You're cold, so will you please go upstairs, take a steaming shower, and, when you're done, I'll have dinner ready."

"_You_ will have dinner ready?"

Laughing, she playfully pushed him out of the room, her insistence the only answer he was going to get. Still amused, Elizabeth leisurely made her way to their pantry. There was really only one thing she could make other than brownies without risking either death by poison or burning down the house, and, although soup wasn't the most filling of meals, it would certainly feel and taste good after spending an entire day out in the elements riding. Luckily, the last time she had gone to the grocery store, she had picked up several cans of the winter food staple, and, figuring she'd play it safe, she pulled out a couple of the chicken noodle variety. Dumping them both into a sauce pan, the brunette set the broth to boil, getting crackers out to accompany the easy meal. Minutes later and everything ready, she put the food on a tray, carrying it upstairs.

Using her foot to knock on the bedroom door, she waited for a reply. "Are you decent?"

A mumbled 'yeah' told her she could enter, so she pushed through, her back towards the 

man she lived with as both hands were occupied with the tray.

"So, I thought we'd eat up here, because, I don't know about you, but I'm still cold."

"Uh, Elizabeth…"

But she never heard his objection. Rambling on, she explained, "I don't care what we do afterwards, either. We can watch television, put a movie in, or you can read while I sketch. But, with the heat turned on and if we light a fire, this will be the warmest place in the house, especially with all the blankets I have on the bed."

Taking the food from her and setting it aside, Jason gently took hold of her shoulders, positioning them so that they were facing one another. "You do realize what you're saying, don't you?" Scrunching up her face, the artist carefully observed the retired enforcer before her, unsure of what he was trying to ask of her. "I mean, are you sure you want me to stay up here… in your bed… with you?"

"Sure," she shrugged, the movement dislodging _her husband's _large, soothing hands from her arms. "I don't… Since that night," she confessed, biting her bottom lip slightly as she continued to talk. "It doesn't bother me to be around you like that, and, to tell you the truth, I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I know that you're warm and comfortable. What you did today for me, taking me out on the snow mobile, telling me about your past, it was one of the sweetest, most thoughtful gestures anyone has ever offered me before."

Evidently, it was his turn to squirm and blush under the affection of her words. "It was nothing."

"No, Jason," the brunette argued, offering him a wide, gracious smile. "It was definitely something. Now, come on," she urged him, moving to climb into the bed herself. "Let's eat."

So, that's what they did, and, in between bites, she told him one of her own secrets. While it might not have been an explanation as to why she, too, was currently in the witness protection program, and while it might not have been nearly as emotional or important of an admission as his was earlier in the day, it was, nevertheless, still something she had never told anyone else. She told him about her desire to someday live, work, and study in Italy, and, before she knew what had happened, their dinner was gone, and they were both full and completely relaxed.

"Wait here," her roommate instructed her, getting up out of the bed and taking the tray with him. "I'll be right back."

Struggling to reach the remote on the opposite bedside table, Elizabeth was just about ready to turn on the TV when the man she lived with returned, a large, bludgeoning-capable book in hand. She didn't even have a chance to ask him what it was he was going to be reading about before he had the remote out of her hand and far across the room where it was completely out of her reach. "What are you doing?"

"No television tonight," the former enforcer instructed, "no movies, no sketching. I'm going to read to you."

Skepticism tinting her words, she teased, "you're going to read to me?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"  


"Alright then," the twenty-three year old allowed, pulling the blankets back so that he could climb in beside her. "What did you bring us?"

Randomly selecting a page, the blonde started to read, his words immediately making the artist stop, pause, and then fidget eagerly. "Avigliana: On a fine day, this small town perched beside two glacier-fed lakes and enriched by tall mountains looks breathtakingly beautiful."

"Wait," she interrupted him, making Jason place the book down against his t-shirt clad chest. "Are there pictures?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, if there are pictures, I'm going to want to see them," she insisted. Without thought, without embarrassment, and without realizing just what exactly she was doing, the petite brunette instructed him, "lift your arm, so I can sit closer to you."

He listened, and, by the time _her husband _started reading to her again, she was burrowed against his side, her head resting against his shoulder. It was the most comfortable she had ever been before in her life.

"Avigliana is overlooked by a castle, first erected in the mid-10th century but now in ruins, which was once the home of the counts of Savoy. Until the early 15th century the town was one of their favorite bases.

"The medieval houses here are largely unspoiled, particularly in the two main _piazzas_, Santa Maria and Conte Rossa. Other building of note are the Casa della Porta Ferrata and the 15th-century Casa dei Savoia, both on Via XX Settembre.

"The church of San Giovanni (13th-14th century) contains early 16th-century paintings by Defendente Ferrari.

"Pinerolo: Pinerolo lies in an attractive setting…"

As Jason's words whispering of another country, of another lifetime, of another dream surrounded her, Elizabeth closed her eyes and melted into him, savoring both his physical and his emotional nearness to her in that moment.

It was the perfect conclusion to what had been a perfect day.

_A/N2: The excerpt at the end of this post came from Italy (Eyewitness Travel Guides), and I found the random selection on . Simply by clicking the 'surprise me' option, the page that this excerpt was taken from (page 219) randomly came up. I've never read the book, and I don't own it either._


	11. Chapter 11

**Part Eleven**

**XXXIX.**

He knew that _his wife _hated to drive, that being in control of a vehicle, let alone their rather large SUV, made her nervous, and that her fear of the roads only seemed to increase when the weather conditions were less than optimal, but he made her drive anyway. It wasn't because he was mean or malicious. Rather, it was simply a skill that she needed to have while living in Dovetree… just in case. After all, he wasn't always with her, and, if she ever needed to get away from someone in a hurry, she couldn't take off on foot, and the small, rural town had no public transportation. No taxies, no buses, and definitely no rail system, and, if nothing else, for his own peace of mind, he needed to know that Elizabeth was always as safe as she possibly could be.

Plus, with winter now firmly upon them, he did not like the idea of her walking to work. Yes, the flower shop was only a few blocks away from their house, but the sidewalks were slippery and oftentimes covered in snow, and he knew that she chilled easily. Unlike himself, the brunette felt every single degree of cold surrounding her. It seemed to seep into her bones, chill her skin, and make her milky complexion almost translucent. And he hated to see her physically uncomfortable.

So, everyday, they had a new routine. After getting up at a similar time in the morning, Elizabeth would putter around the house while he got ready for work, drinking her ever-present hot chocolate, packing his lunch for him, and pretending to be watching the morning news while catching five minute catnaps. Once he was ready to leave, she would wrap herself up in her warmest winter coat and boots, complete with all the accoutrements that went with the seasonal garb, and take him to work, driving slowly, cautiously, with both hands on the wheel and the radio absolutely silent – not that he would complain about a lack of music, so that she could have the vehicle for whatever she might need it for. When his shift was over, she was always there waiting for him, the car unbearably balmy. No matter how many times he told her that he really didn't feel temperature extremes, the college graduate never ceased to fuss over him, questioning whether he had dressed warm enough, insisting that he take a thermos of coffee with him just in case, and, then, at night, cranking up the SUV's and the house's heat because she thought he might be cold from his long, hard day out in the elements.

But he didn't really mind too much. In fact, it wasn't the insane settings that the artist kept their surroundings at all times that made him feel feverish and sweaty, but, instead, it was the fact that she cared so much in the first place. Knowing that Elizabeth worried about him sent a pleasant jolt of awareness through the former hitman, a tingling sensation that he really didn't recognize or understand, and the oft repeated gesture never failed to put a crooked, knowing grin on his somehow still tan face. But he never said anything about her actions, and she never called him out on his reactions, so the pattern continued – over and over and over again with neither of them fully comprehending what the other thought about the situation.

Presently, they were in the car on the way towards his latest construction site. Because of the change in the weather, there were no more outdoor jobs. Roofs that needed patching or redone would have to wait until spring, siding that needed to be replaced would be kept in storage until the snow and cold of winter had passed for the more favorable conditions of the new year, and there was no way they could pour new basements or lay cement blocks to start and complete any new projects. So, in order to keep his men busy, Tom, Jason's boss, saved all their indoor remodeling projects for the winter, and, luckily, the people of 

Dovetree were understanding and even obliging.

And he hated it. He hated being trapped inside where the air was constantly clogged with dust and particles no lungs should breathe in. But that didn't mean that he wore a mask either like some of the other men. It wasn't because he believed them to be too feminine, but, rather, he simply didn't like the feeling of something covering his mouth and nose. It was smothering and made him feel cornered. Plus, he missed the sun, and the jobs they performed inside were even more mundane and thoughtless – painting, laying carpet, tiling, putting up new drywall. It was the same thing day in and day out, and he was ready for a break.

"You know, Christmas is coming up soon."

As he glanced over at the woman he lived with, the onetime enforcer wasn't sure who was more surprised by his quiet disrupting statement. As Elizabeth coasted slowly to a stop at the town's sole red light, she turned to face him, her normally smooth and wrinkle free brow scrunched up in question, the very same questions he was currently, silently, asking himself. With her head tilted to the side and her big, bright, and compelling blue eyes glancing up at him, _his wife _waited for him to continue, for him to explain just why he was bringing up the rapidly approaching holiday.

When he said nothing, she urged him by saying, "and…"

"And," the blonde shrugged, reaching up to tug distractedly at his earlobe, effectively blocking her gaze from fixating so forcefully on his own. "And I'm going to be having some time off."

"I see," the twenty-three year old murmured, gradually getting their lumbering vehicle moving once again.

Although she refused to tear her eyes off the road now that she was driving, her left hand perfectly positioned at the ten o'clock position and her right at two, he knew that her attention was solely placed upon him, further unsettling him. While just moments before he had been attempting to avoid her sight, now he craved it, for he wanted to read her reactions in her ever expressive eyes, and, while moments before he had believed it a good idea to bring up the upcoming holiday season, a fact that in and of itself was disconcerting considering that he had never really been one to celebrate Christmas or any holiday, for that matter, before, he now knew that the comment had been a mistake. Of course Elizabeth wouldn't want to do anything with him to mark December 25th. In fact, his mentioning the family oriented holiday had probably brought up memories from her past that she wanted to keep hidden, memories that she was yet ready to share with…"

"I have some time off, too."

And, with that simple, six word sentence, his anxiety disappeared once again. Knowing that he just needed to spit it out if he ever wanted to say what was on his mind instead of second guessing his every instinct, another personal first, the retired hitman squared his shoulders, turned to face _his wife, _and spoke plainly but yet succinctly at the same time. "I was thinking that maybe we could go away together."

The artist's rapid blinking informed him that his suggestion had surprised her, but, now that the thought was out there, circulating to and fro between them, he refused to take it back. "What… I… Where?"  


"Doesn't matter," Jason answered, shrugging. "Wherever you want."

"But why?"

"Why what," he questioned her, narrowing his gaze. "Why am I letting you choose?"

"No," the brunette quickly dismissed, shocking him when she lifted her right hand off the wheel to distractedly wave the very idea away. "Why do you want to go away?"

Really, he thought that she might like to, so he was actually doing it for her. And maybe slightly for himself, too, for he always enjoyed putting a smile upon her beautiful face. However, the onetime enforcer wasn't sure if the twenty-three year old was ready for such a confession on his part, so, instead, he played it safe, simply admitting, "I thought it'd be good for our cover."

"Oh."

"I mean, we never talk about our family, no one other than the agents that one time have ever come to visit us, and it would probably look suspicious if a recently married, young couple spent the holidays alone. We could go away, leave the craziness of Christmas – the shopping, the decorating, the cooking – behind and just escape for a little while, drop the act of Jack and Ellis Martin and just… be."

"You mean, just be Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber again?"

"Yeah," he responded, nodding his head. When he noticed the light in her eyes dim slightly more, he rushed on to correct himself. "It'll, of course, be different now, though. After all, I think we've made peace with each other."

"We have."

"And I think that we're now friends."

"I think so, too."

"Maybe even more than friends," the blonde suggested, astonishing the woman he lived with.

"More than friends," Elizabeth prompted him, obviously wanting an explanation.

Suddenly nervous again, he felt his mouth go dry. "You know," he made light of his own pronouncement. Twisting his head to look out the window as he talked, not wanting the young artist to see his expression even out of the corner of her eyes, he clarified. "I was friends with some of the guys I used to work with in the organization, but I never really talked to them. I never told them things, private things. We'd go out, drink beer, play some pool, and that was it. With you, it's… more than friends." Though he knew he was simply repeating what he had said earlier, Jason really had no idea how else to explain what he felt for the college graduate. He just didn't have the words to express the sentiments. "Anyway," it was his turn to press her, pivoting back around in his seat away from the passing scenery. "What do you think?"

"Sure," she agreed readily, easily, if not almost eagerly. "I'd love to go away for Christmas… 

with you. But don't think you're getting out of the traditions," she warned him.

"What traditions?"

"Well, we have to get a Christmas tree, and you're going to help me decorate it, Mister."

Being contrary, perhaps even on purpose simply to playfully push her buttons, the former hitman stated, "pine trees look better in the woods covered in pine cones and snow."

"They do not," Elizabeth challenged, laughing slightly despite her feigned offense. "And we're going to bake cookies, too."

"But the only you can make is brownies."

"Well, you know how to cook, and, really," the brunette surmised, "how hard can it be? Between the two of us, we should be able to figure it out."

Lifting a hand to his face to cover up a smirk, Jason asked her, "anything else?"

"Yes," _his wife _was quick to respond, her voice growing more and more animated as she went on. "We have to sing carols."

"I don't sing."

"… and read _The Night Before Christmas_. We'll have to play in the snow, build a snowman and make snow angles, put cookies and milk out for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph."

"You do realize that Santa isn't real, don't you?"

She just continued to ignore him, though, much to the onetime enforcer's amusement. "Oh, and I'm going to have to go shopping soon for your presents."

"Presents?"

This time he received an answer. "Of course, presents," the college graduate replied almost indignantly, but, then, her countenance fell once again, and she frowned. "What? Don't you want to exchange gifts?"

"No, that's fine," he was quick to reassure her. "We can get each other presents."

And they would. He would do anything Elizabeth wanted him to do if it continued to make her smile like she currently was as she rambled on and on about the various Christmas traditions that she observed every year no matter what. Obviously, he realized, the holidays were important to the woman he lived with, even if she was now, technically, alone in the world without her family. However, as long as he was allowed to remain with her, she'd always have someone by her side, someone to harass and innocently guilt into following all her silly holiday rules and customs, and, even though he'd complain the whole time, teasing her, he'd do so willingly, for, in his opinion, that's what more than friends did for each other.

… Even if his own more than friend _was _a self-proclaimed Christmas freak and didn't realize the sacrifice he was making for her.

**XL. **

She really needed to start being more punctual. If it wasn't for the fact that Didi was too nice for her own good, Elizabeth knew that she would have been fired long ago. Not a week went by when she wasn't late for work because of some rather foolish reason, and, no matter how many times she told herself that it was the last time, there was always another. And another. She had tried setting her watch's alarm to go off fifteen minutes before her shift every day, but, just as she often forgot about the time, she also seemed to forget which days it was that she had to go into the shop in the first place. Random sticky notes placed around the house didn't help, and even jotted down little reminders on the palm of her hands were ineffective, for she simply washed those off in the shower or sweated the ink away.

In fact, at that point, it was pretty much a running joke between her and the ladies of the garden club. They had a pattern. She'd be running late again, getting lost in something – a new sketch, a batch of brownies, or, more often than not, thoughts of the man she lived with, and her boss would be forced to call her, reminding her of the fact that she was supposed to be there twenty minutes before. By the time she would arrive, at least one of her elderly friends would be waiting there to rib her - Evelyn the most common culprit. But the joking was all good natured, and, if that was all she had to endure in order to keep her job, she'd laugh and smile along with them, blushing at their innuendoes.

On that particular morning, however, she had managed to catch herself before her employer had to pick up a phone and dial her pre-programmed number. Sitting at the computer, chin resting lazily in hand, she browsed through travel sites, her mind completely focused on the idea of finding a place that she and Jason could escape to for a few days during the holiday season. She had ruled out the various, popular beaches immediately. Not only would those destinations inevitably remind her of Sonny and his private island, but she had a feeling that _her husband _would prefer something more private, and, if she was completely honest with herself, she, too, would rather be alone with him than surrounded by hundreds of other tourists.

However, in the middle of debating between snow and sun, she had just happened to glance at the tiny clock located in the right hand corner of the computer screen, jumping out of her chair so quickly when she realized just how late it was that she knocked it over. Without delay, she started to gather her things, leaving the computer on and running, while dashing towards the side door. Her winter clothes were hanging up in the home's entrance, dry and warm, just waiting for her, so she slipped on her boots, threw her coat on, and, simply ignoring her better judgment, skipped her hat, gloves, and scarf. The ride to the shop only took a few minutes, even with nasty roads and poor driving conditions, and, if she did happen to go into the ditch, there were plenty of homes she could go to for assistance or a full tank of gas to use up as she kept the SUV's motor running while waiting for help.

She was halfway to the shop when she realized that, along with her accessories, she had left her cell phone on the kitchen counter, but she didn't turn back. No one ever called her. Basically, she had the mobile just in case of emergencies, and, since the road crews had already been out to plow and spread salt, she wasn't worried about wrecking and needing to phone for a tow. What was more important was getting to work as quickly as she possibly could, so she could, once again, apologize to Didi for her scatterbrained nature.

Pushing open the front door and stumbling in awkwardly, she quickly moved to close the air hole, savoring the warmth and inviting ambiance of the floral shop. The lighting was soft, the shades drawn down to keep the depressing sight of a grey, winter's day away and out of mind, and there was the welcoming tinkling of companionable laughter coming from the 

back of the store, the sound drawing Elizabeth towards her boss and good friend.

"Well, there you are, Ellis," Evelyn called out, winking towards the middle aged woman behind the counter. "We were getting worried about you. In fact, Didi had just called your house and your cell phone, but you didn't pick up either. Five more minutes, and we were going to close the shop down to come looking for you."

"Never do that," she instructed them, stripping off her coat and boots. Because she kept a pair of slippers at the store, she would wear them while working instead of her large, bulky goulashes during the day. "You know how I always seem to be running late."

"Yes, but why didn't you have your cell phone on you."

"Forgot it," the twenty-three year old answered her boss' question. "I rushed out of the house so quickly that I left it on the kitchen counter. But, anyway, I'm sorry that I worried you, but, even if I would have ditched the car, there's no reason for the two of you to go out there and risk accident or injury as well."

"Of course there is," the oldest of the three women insisted. "I'd rather wreck my Caddy than worry about you, young lady, so quit with this noble, gallant malarkey. I won't have it."

Smirking, she teased, "oh, you won't?"

"No," Evelyn replied as serious as the widow could possibly be. "Now, tell us," she insisted. "What had you running late this morning?"

"Was it a new drawing," Didi suggested helpfully, waving the stem of the flower she was currently putting into an arrangement as she talked.

"Or a rousing game of solo-pool, seeing as how you're determined to learn that bewildering barroom game?"

"Neither," the college graduate responded, taking her position beside her boss behind the counter and immediately starting to work. Not realizing what she was saying and how she was setting herself up for even more taunting, Elizabeth murmured vaguely. "Jack had me distracted this morning."

Didi snickered, and the only mother in their small group used a mock stage whisper to comment, "I'd like to be _distracted _by that man myself. Unfortunately, he seems to only have eyes for his you."

Snapping to attention, the brunette met both of the older women's gazes with large, owl-like, unblinking eyes. "No," she disputed, shaking her head rapidly in argument. "You don't understand. That's not what I meant. You see…"

"It's alright, Dear," Evelyn consoled, patting the artist's pale, petite hand with her own wrinkled and aged one. "We understand, and, as we promised you all those weeks ago, we won't say another word about it. Now, if you were so inclined to give two elderly ladies some steamy details…"

"Hey, speak for yourself," her employer interrupted, good-naturedly glaring in the grandmother's direction. "I am not elderly."  


The white haired widow simply snorted in derision, rolling her eyes. Turning her attention back to Elizabeth, she pressed, "so, is there anything you'd like to tell us? Throw an old girl a bone, here, please."

"Sorry," the twenty-three year old apologized despite grinning wickedly and not particularly feeing remorseful. "But anything that I may or may not share with _my husband _stays between the two of us."

"And Betsy," Evelyn added, causing her young friend to grimace with abhorrence. "After all, she's always watching. She's just like the government, that woman."

Without meaning to, she felt herself tense at older woman's seemingly innocent comment, a comment that was said merely in jest but that touched a little too close to home for her to be comfortable. Shaking aside the anxiety, though, she smiled, laughed, and went back to the flower arrangement she was presently working on. Around her, the two ladies continued to chat about random topics, forgetting her and her _distraction _as quickly as it had been brought up, and the diminutive brunette was left with the opportunity to mull over her own thoughts on the topic.

Two months ago, at the very idea of her fellow garden club members believing that she was late because she and Jack had been intimate with each other, she would have been embarrassed and even, in her own way, slightly ashamed. But, now, oddly enough, the idea almost appealed to her. That was why she had let their assumptions pass without too much argument on her part, why she had teased her friends, and why, now, even minutes later, her body still felt alive and deliciously aware as images of what those _distractions _would look like, feel like, even taste like assaulted her imagination. It was a surreal experience but one that she wouldn't trade for any sense of normalcy or emotional comfort.

**XLI.**

It was late that afternoon, and Evelyn was still there with them. At that point, Elizabeth thought that they should have just given her an official position at the store, figured out a way to pay her a decent wage. The other ladies had all stopped by, too, well, except for Betsy who she was pretty sure what attempting to break into the house she shared with Jason to plant bugs. Cate had stopped in while out about running errands and stayed to have lunch with them, and Renee had dropped by to pick up some poinsettias for her house, exchanging her usual bright and cheerful floral arrangements for something more seasonally appropriate. But she had left an hour earlier, and the three of them remaining, between serving customers and taking orders over the phone, were still talking about the upcoming holiday.

The only mother of their little group had shared about how, when she was just a child herself growing up in the depression, her family had been forced to not give each other gifts for several years. They still went to church and had a modest Christmas dinner, but she received no new dolls or pretty dresses, and Didi had followed that up with stories of what Christmas was like growing up in her home with just her and her mom. With no siblings and her father dead, their holiday affairs had been rather somber, understated, until she had gotten older and her mother had gotten past the loss of her husband. But then they had turned to her, asking the brunette about her childhood memories, and amazing herself, she was actually willing to reveal what it had been like growing up as a Webber in Colorado.

There were no spasms of pain as she reflected upon the family she no longer was a part of, 

no errant tears when flashes of her brother's antics on Christmas morning popped into her mind, and, actually, it was nice to recall good memories rather than bad ones for, perhaps, the first time in months. Smiling wistfully in recollection, she launched into an account of days long since gone by, pausing in her work to focus on what she was saying.

"Christmas was always my favorite time of year. My parents didn't work as much, I didn't have to go to school, and my grandmother always flew out to see us. For just a little while, I could forget that I was the black sheep of the family, and my Mom, Dad, and sister seemed to forget the fact as well."

"Oh, I don't believe that," Evelyn waved off, casting a skeptical glance in the artist's direction. "How could anyone not find you absolutely adorable?"

"Let's just say that I was unique."

The two older women laughed, and, then, Didi asked her, "but what would your family do to celebrate?"

"We always got a big tree and would decorate it together, and there were numerous holiday parties to go, whether friends or coworkers of my parents. I hated the frilly dresses they made me wear, but I loved the hot chocolate and cookies."

Together, in sync, her two friends replied, "some things never change," to which Elizabeth merely shrugged.

"What can I say? A girl knows what she likes."

"No, she doesn't," a fourth voice argued, joining their group.

"Aw, Betsy," the widow complained, frowning and narrowing her gaze combatively towards her oftentimes rival. "It's always a displeasure to see you."

"Evelyn," her employer chastised, but, despite herself, she snickered. "Ladies, play nice."

"We can't," Elizabeth's neighbor informed the twice divorced florist. "It's against our nature, and you know that you'd be bored without our constant bickering. Anyway," she drawled out, continuing. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted." She paused long enough to pinch her adversary. "A girl never knows what she likes… or wants. That's why most of us end up alone and unhappy in our old age."

"Well, not Ellis," Didi defended the twenty-three year old. "She knows exactly what she's doing, and she already has Jack. No woman in her right mind would mess that marriage up, and I happen to know for a fact that our young friend here is of both sane mind and body."

"Care to make a wager?"

"I'm warning you, Northam," Evelyn started to threaten the old maid, standing up from her chair, but, before their dispute could escalate, and, really, how it had even started she wasn't quite sure, the college graduate interrupted.

"So, what can we do for you today, Betsy?"

"Oh, I just stopped by to see if one of you fools has some information about the accident 

that was just called in a few minutes ago?"

"What," her boss challenged good naturedly. "Did the batteries on your scanner die on you?"

"Of course not," the busybody defended, taking her own seat diagonal from her older garden club counterpart. "They just weren't very forthcoming with the information, and, seeing as how Ellis here is married to one of Tom's employees, I thought she might know what went down on that construction site today."

All three sets of older eyes turned in her direction, and, while she could read curiosity in her neighbor's, there was thinly veiled worry in both Didi's and Evelyn's. "What do you mean _went down_?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you, now, would I?"

"Just give her a straight answer," her boss instructed the older, contrary woman. "We haven't heard anything."

"Oh, well, according to the 911 call, there was some kind of electrical mishap. One of the guys' hearts stopped beating."

She felt as if she was going to faint and cry all at the same exact time. Reaching blindly for something to hold onto, Elizabeth, instead, felt her friend and coworker's hands encircle her waist as she guided her towards the stool that was always kept with them behind the counter. Her breathing was erratic, choppy, and she could feel her own heart pounding at an uneven, scary tempo in her chest. Instantly, her palms became clammy, and she could literally feel all the blood drain away from her face and hands.

"Sweetie," Evelyn stated, the only mother of their group using her maternal instincts in an attempt to both sooth and calm her. With the elderly woman's hands gently cupping her face, she brought their gazes together, all the while talking to her softly, reassuringly, compassionately. "Hey, Jack's okay. He's fine, Ellis. I promise you. If something was wrong, Tom would have called you himself, but no one's called in the last forty minutes. The phones have all been quiet."

"But my cell phone…"

"It never rang, Honey."

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally splashed down onto her trembling nose and lips, their salty taste shocking the college graduate from her moment of inaction. Standing up, she pushed aside her friend's embrace, pacing and dashing around as she tried to both collect herself and her thoughts. "It's at home. Even if someone would have tried to call me, I wouldn't have been able to pick up, because I wouldn't have known."

"Surely," Didi suggested, interjecting helpfully, "they would have called here. Everyone knows that you work for me during the days."

"But they might not have," Elizabeth retorted practically hysterically. "If there wasn't time, if things had gotten too chaotic…" Reaching under the counter for her keys and purse, she started towards the door, not even bothering to put on her coat or to switch her slippers for her winter boots. "I have to go."  


"Ellis, you're upset," Betsy, ever the practical one, pointed out. "You shouldn't be driving like this. What if your husband's alright, but you get in a wreck on your way to see him anyway? You're not being very smart about this. Just let one of us drive you."

But she didn't listen. Hell, she didn't even stay long enough to hear the rest of her friends' arguments. Instead, she raced down the slippery sidewalks outside of the flower shop and jumped in the SUV she shared with _her husband,_ starting the ignition and pulling away with slush spitting forth from her back tires without ever once checking for oncoming traffic or stopping long enough to clean off the windows from the snow that had been falling sluggishly all day. Rather, she simply turned on her windshield wiper blades, hoping that between their efforts and the speed of her moving vehicle, the obstructing snow would eventually fall off the car. If not, well, then, so be it, for nothing was going to stop her from getting to Jason; nothing was going to stop her from getting to the man she loved.

**XLII.**

Outside of the construction site, it was a veritable melee – people swarming about, attempting to either look busy in order to hide their own personal unease over what had happened that afternoon or attempting to merely blend into the background so no one would take notice of them, emergency workers trying to organize what was otherwise mass pandemonium, and the red and blue lights of the local rescue vehicles, their bright, swirling illumination refusing to allow anyone to forget the near fatal accident they had all witnessed. Cars were blocked in, voices were loud and strained, and all he wanted to do was leave, but, because the woman he lived with had their only vehicle, he was stranded until she arrived to pick him up at five or someone took pity on him and offered him a ride home.

It was rather odd what he was feeling in that moment. While he was relieved that he had been uninjured, he felt sympathy for Gary and his family, knowing that if the EMT's had been just a few minutes later to resuscitate the other man, he would have died. And, although he was no stranger to death and had a fine sense of his own mortality, Jason hadn't been expecting the sheer strength of his emotions afterwards. Maybe it was because he was now away from the mob and the lifestyle he had existed under all those years while working for Sonny, or, perhaps, it was because, for the first time in months, he actually found himself caring whether or not he survived the current battle he was waging with his former employer, but, whatever the reason, he was thankful that he wasn't the one who had been electrocuted, that it wasn't his heart that had stopped beating, and that, when he went home that night, Elizabeth would be there with him.

They'd have dinner together and then settle down for a quiet night in. Whether they played pool, watched a movie, or simply relaxed with one another in bed, he knew that she would listen carefully and with interest if he wanted to confide in her about the day he had experienced, or, if he preferred to simply exist in silence, she wouldn't fight him, allowing him his privacy and time to sort out his own thoughts in his own way. And the quiet between them wouldn't be awkward either, for, now, it never was. Sometimes, it would be laced with humor, camaraderie, or, occasionally, if he didn't know better, he'd even say that there were strains sexual tension on both of their parts, but, no matter what, it was always enjoyable and never uncomfortable.  


So, if he wanted to confess to her that, as he watched his coworker be administered to by the paramedics, he had, briefly, seen himself motionlessly lying there, he knew that he could. Or, if instead, he just wanted to hug the petite brunette and keep her close to him, she would allow that, too. And that was just another reason why he…

Fleetingly, he saw a tiny woman push and shove her way through the crowd, from the fluffy pink of her slippers to her whirling chocolate tresses, every single inch of her tense frame reminding him of _his wife_. "What the hell," the former enforcer muttered to himself, following the woman's path, weaving and bobbing his way through the people she had just rudely bulldozed through. Several minutes later, he came to a stop when he saw her standing by herself in the middle of the throng, allowing his eyes the chance to really and truly take her appearance in.

Sans coat and proper dress, she was shivering from the cold but appeared oblivious to the discomfort. Standing up on her tiptoes, he could tell that she was scanning those around her for something or, more likely, someone, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Wringing her hands together, he observed as she ignored the dripping signs of emotion coursing their way down her blotchy, red face, choosing to, instead, play with the simple, gold band decorating her left ring finger. But he couldn't approach her; he couldn't take a single step closer to her, so, feeling foolish for inactiveness, Jason called out to her, his voice breaking with feeling and sentiment.

"What are you…? What are you doing here?"

She was already turned around and running towards him before the mumbled, awkward sentence could find its way free of his mouth, and, reacting instinctively when she launched herself into his arms, he pulled the brunette tightly against him, crushing their chests together. Her feet were dangling up off of the ground, her arms around his neck, when she moved in to kiss him, joining their lips together in a breathless, desperate, deafening embrace, and, despite the fact that he was soon breathless, the onetime hitman refused to release her. Rather, he deepened the kiss, pried open her mouth with his own, and, then, slipped his tongue in to slide against and taste her inner, unique palate.

When neither of them could last a single second longer, he separated them, burrowing his face into her chilly, supple neck in order to remain as close to her as possible. Needing to know, needing to understand the truth even if it had the potential to hurt and destroy him far more than if he had been the one to have been electrocuted that day, he asked, "Ellis?"

Her tears were dripping down his face, too, when she responded, nodding her head no in a rather emphatic, frantic gesture of resistance and contradiction.

But he needed, craved more. In a noticeably incredulous voice, the blonde asked, "Elizabeth?"

However, the only answer _his wife _was capable of giving him was another kiss, less 

desperate in nature but just as sweet, just as addicting, just as completely mind numbing as the first. It was also the only one he needed as well. Blindly, he walked them towards the street, determined to find the vehicle she had driven there and ultimately left running in her haste to make sure he was alright, and was completely oblivious to the fact that, technically, he was leaving work without informing his boss. Not that he would have cared even if Tom had forbidden him from going home. After all, _Elizabeth _was kissing him – Jason Morgan and not Jack Martin, and, in that moment, _that _was all that mattered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part Twelve**

**XLIII.**

She felt ridiculous, but, then again, Jason didn't seem to mind. In fact, if anything, he was practically encouraging her strange behavior, enjoying it, and that just made her worry even more. The glaring harsh truth was that he could very well have died that afternoon. She could have lost him before ever truly having him in the first place, and that realization had shaken her to the core, and she felt trapped in the moment. While logic told her that the man she loved was alright, the rest of her body hadn't quite grasped that fact yet, so she sat there, practically unblinking, simply staring at the former enforcer.

And, in return, he stared back. But it was a different sort of attention. While she was avidly inspecting him for injuries, mentally running over an invisible checklist of everything that could have gone wrong and making sure that it hadn't, he seemed to be watching her for something – some kind of reaction, some kind of signal, and, even though they hadn't touched since they entered the bedroom they had shared platonically since the afternoon Jason had told her about his own painful history, she felt his gaze like a caress.

They were positioned on the bed across from each other, facing each other. While he was leaning up against the headboard, she was in front of him, sitting with her legs crossed, one of his legs curled around in front of him to wrap protectively, possessively around her. It was like an invisible shield, and, though the fabric of his denim jeans had yet to come in contact with her own clothes, Elizabeth felt cocooned in safety by the simple gesture. However, that didn't mean that she wasn't aware of the confusing yet exhilarating emotions zigzagging around inside of her form, and she was almost painfully cognizant of the similar feelings ricocheting between the two of them. The question was: was Jason conscious of them as well?

"Are you okay?"

It took the twenty-three year old several seconds to realize that he had just asked her a question. Despite the fact that they had been together, never leaving the other's side, since the moment they had spotted one another at the construction site, neither of them had attempted to discuss what had happened, and, now that the blonde in front of her was, it took her a few beats to gather her wits and respond appropriately.

"Are you?"

He didn't move, but she could see the slight flare of annoyance pass through his features when she sidestepped his question with one of her own. "Elizabeth…"

But she wouldn't allow him the chance to reprimand her or to press for an answer. Right then, in that moment, she didn't really matter. Instead, what did was him – his health, his safety, his reaction and acceptance of the fact that it very well could have been him who had been electrocuted that day, not that she particularly wanted to dwell on that idea for too long…. And she told him as much as well. "I'm pretty irrelevant right now."

"Not to me."

Again, she ignored his words, though the sentiment behind them sent a warm rush of exhilaration swirling and dancing through her bloodstream. In fact, she could feel the affect of his words from the tips of her suddenly crimson ears to the tiniest toes on her petite, 

sock covered feet. It was the same sensation she felt earlier that evening when Jason had kissed her, knowing that she wasn't pretending as his wife, as Ellis Martin, but that she was kissing him as plain old, boring, wannabe artist Elizabeth Webber. The surge of adrenaline, of desire was addicting, and she almost begged then and there for him to do something to her to make her feel it again. And again. And again. But she didn't. Instead, she focused on what she thought the onetime hitman needed.

"Jason, you could have…" Her words trailed off, and she swallowed roughly, refusing to finish the statement they both already understood perfectly clearly. "It was a freak accident, something that could happen to anyone, and, even though you weren't physically injured, that had to have freaked you out. And I know that guys don't like to admit when they're scared or unsure of themselves, but you're safe with me. I promise that whatever you say here this evening will just be between the two of us, and I won't judge you, or think that you're weak, and I would never make fun of you or use anything you told me against…"

"Oh!" The exclamation popped out of her mouth just as it pursed with surprise. The petite brunette could feel her eyes grow wide with wonder before a multitude of emotions flashed across her open and honest visage. As the man she lived with slowly reached out, grasped one of her hands in his own, and brought her suddenly trembling fingers to his stubble roughened face, she couldn't prevent herself from reacting clearly and honestly enough for him to read each and every single thought churning in her mind, in her heart, through her warm, tender, sapphire irises. There was attraction and awe, shyness and insecurity, passion and hope, and they were all meant for and because of the man she was in love with.

When he started to talk, his words were slowly spoken, low in tone and deep in timber, but Elizabeth could hear them as soundly as though he was speaking the words directly into her mind. "I'm really okay," he promised her, encouraging her hand to explore and touch his face to her heart's content with just a simple tip of his chin to nudge her digits out of inaction. And, as he continued to talk, she did just that, lifting her second, free hand to his face and using her palm and the pads of her fingers to trace and memorize, explore and examine every dip and contour of his handsome countenance. "In fact, right now, here with you, I'm better than okay."

Her thumb skirted the edge of his mouth, and the almost silent sigh he released at the contact made her shiver with responsiveness and bolder in her study. "But before…"

"Before, I wasn't really worried about me," he confessed, and her right hand fell down to embrace his throat while her left trailed behind his face into his hair only for her to drag her fingers through his thick, wheat hued locks and stop to idly scratch his scalp at the nape of his neck. She waited until he continued, until he finished that thought to progress her touch further. "Yes, I realized that it could just as easily have been me as it was Gary, but I really wasn't worried about my own life. I just… I didn't like the idea of never seeing you again, of leaving you, of…" This time it was Jason's turn to swallow thickly before he finished his thought. "I hated the idea of dying without _being _with you first."

They both fell silent – his admission and her touch enough in that moment to sustain them both. Wandering seemingly without purpose or aim, she continued to scrutinize him with her delicate artist attention. Although she could see for herself the fact that he was without injury, her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and, apparently, they needed the reassurance that the blonde was just as whole, just as perfect as he had been earlier that morning when he had so unwittingly gone to work.

Her fingers trailed across his shoulders and down his arms, stopping briefly to tangle and interlock with his own before following their own trail back up to his chest. From there, she swept her digits back and forth along his torso, starting at the top and working her way down to the waistband of his pants. Despite the fact that never before in her life had she ever been so bold with a man, so aggressive, there was no awkwardness, no discomfiture, perhaps because the motions weren't sexual or seductive in nature, but, more than likely, the easiness that existed between them was simply there because she wasn't with just some other man but with Jason, and, for the first time in her life since the rape, she trusted him even more than she trusted herself.

When her hands wrapped around to continue their examination on his back, she scooted closer to him, their legs finally brushing as she settled herself just inches in front of his own body. Needing more than just the touch of her fingers against his steady and strong form, she leaned forward until their chests were pressed together and lowered her head to rest against his heart. The rhythm of his life's blood beneath her ear was constant and reassuring, freeing, and she lost herself in his nearness.

All of a sudden, without recognizing the shift of her own attentions, Elizabeth felt as if she was willingly drowning in the man before her. His scent – pure and male and erotic - encompassed her, surrounded her, consumed her; the feel of him against her awakened nerve endings in her body previously dormant and unfamiliar. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, but she wasn't hurting for the loss of oxygen. Her heart rate sped up, her stomach twisted itself into anticipating knots, and her palms grew clammy with expectation. And it wasn't until she realized that the retired enforcer's heart was beating just as rapidly, just as erratically as her own that she became sensitive of the fact that he felt what was between them, too.

She pulled away from him then, her hands following the retreating motion and coming to rest this time on his jean clad thighs. Quickly licking her lips in a futile effort to moisten her unexpectedly dry mouth, the twenty three year old brunette locked her burning gaze with his, daring, pleading, coaxing him to touch her in return, to reassure her with some kind of action that what they were about to do was what he wanted as well. They stayed like that, trapped in each other's hesitation for several moments, until she bit her lip and an unconscious, almost painfully aroused groan escaped Jason's tightly clenched mouth, and it was all the encouragement she needed.

Taking her inactive hands and leisurely, almost reverently stripping the blonde's shirt off of him, the college graduate grinned in seductive pleasure when he obliged her attentions, lifting his arms to assist her. The plain, basic t-shirt dropped unceremoniously to the floor, forgotten once it was removed. Even though she had seen the man she loved with his chest bare and exposed before, it felt like a new experience for her, simply because of the reason why he was now partially nude before her, and she murmured her satisfaction.

Like before, she scooted closer to him, but, instead of wrapping her arms around him in a hug or laying her head to rest against his chest, Elizabeth leaned forward until her lips brushed against his tanned and heated flesh, placing a chaste yet lingering kiss right over where his heart resided below. Pulling back far enough to glance at the onetime hitman through the smoky veil of her thick, dark lashes, she allowed herself the opportunity to flick her tongue against her lips, briefly savoring the taste of his skin on her mouth.

"Elizabeth," Jason groaned out, almost sounding as if he was physically in pain.

But she shushed him by sitting up on her knees and placing a single, silky digit against his 

parted lips, quivering with longing when he then, in reaction, kissed her finger. She knew that she needed to say something to convince him that she was sure, that she wasn't going to back down, or change her mind, or regret their actions in the morning, but everything she thought of sounded too clichéd or even too rehearsed. So, she settled with the plain truth of her emotions, going for the simplistic rather than the complicated.

Biting her lip, the young artist met his enflamed gaze with her own equally aroused orbs of liquid lust and devotion, whispering, whimpering the one and only word she could think of to express to him just how much she wanted and needed to be with him. "Please." And before it had even finished crossing over her plump and already swollen lips, she knew they were both lost, and she was thankful for the surrender.

Realizing that, despite her conviction, she was nervous, Jason allowed her to set their pace, and, as she slowly undressed, her eyes never once leaving his, he observed her with such keen wonder and affection that she knew the simple act of giving herself to him, of trusting him with not only her heart but her body as well, meant more to the onetime enforcer than anything physical that they might share with each other that evening. It made her feel cherished and special and beyond beautiful, and she abruptly came to understand something very important. What they were about to do wasn't just about a man being with a woman; it was about one man in particular – Jason – being with one woman in particular – her, and, not only would it be different than any other coupling in the history of mankind before them, but it could only happen between the two of them together, for it wasn't about the act but what that act symbolized for them as a couple. The insight gave her clarity, and the clarity released her from any inhibitions or fears the past had provided her with.

Their clothes melted away unhurriedly, rhythmically, and she undressed them both, first herself and then him, and, when they were finally both sitting there perfectly nude, perfectly vulnerable in the others presence and attention, she felt anything but. Rather, she felt invincible, and that confidence did not stem from any wall she had built around herself, for the walls had all come tumbling down, and it didn't originate from any physical barrier she had place about her body; instead, it came from Jason's love for her, his devotion, his patience, his acceptance, and the fact that he recognized and accepted those very same things from her in return.

Eventually, when they reached an impasse where her inexperience dictated that he assume control, Elizabeth willingly, trustingly submitted herself to his worshipping touch. He loved her gently yet ardently, delicately yet with absolute fervor and obsession. Her put her need, her desire first, bringing her to completion more than once without any concern or thought to his own release. He found it, though, eventually, when they shattered and erupted and splintered apart one lasting, final time together, and, as she was unabashedly freefalling into an abyss of nothing but absolute sensation, the twenty three year old realized that being with a man, that making love with Jason was nothing like what she had thought it would be like, had feared it would be like. In fact, it was the complete and totally perfect opposite, and she had never been more grateful for anything in her entire life.

**XLIV.**

After what they had just experienced together, Elizabeth wasn't sure she would ever be able to let Jason go now. Emotionally, no matter what happened in the future, he would always be a part of her, but, physically, she wanted to hold him in her arms forever, insisting that he return the intimate gesture and hold her as well. When they were this close to each other, she felt as if her world was perfect, and, even though their demons were waiting for them outside their bedroom door, never gone just temporarily banished, the artist knew 

that they no longer held as much potency for either of them.

Despite the fact that night had fallen and taken over their little corner of the world hours before, neither of them showed signs of wanting to move. Dinnertime had come and gone, but the last thing she was hungry for was food. In fact, if it meant remaining in bed with Jason for the rest of her life, she'd gladly stop eating for eternity. Suddenly, such normally routine cravings held no sway with her; her appetite was focused on more rewarding necessities.

At that thought, she grinned, an unmistakably purely satisfied, feminine smirk, and, in return, the man she was wrapped so familiarly around shifted his legs just a fraction, the slight movement sending a shamelessly decadent jolt of sexual awareness careening through her sated and pliable form. It reminded her of how closely they were pressed together. With their limbs tangled beyond recognition, their chests crushed against one another's, and their faces just a breath apart, they were practically one interconnected body instead of two flawlessly matched individuals, and the ease and informality of their arrangement was utterly addictive to the petite brunette.

"What are you thinking about?"

His words stirred the damp and curling tendrils of hair that formed a halo around her face, and the movement tickled her delicate skin slightly, and, as he asked her the simple yet deceptively complicated question, Jason ran the fingers of his left hand from her round, impossibly soft shoulder down to the peaches and cream perfection that was the curve of her naked hip. It took almost all of her will to answer him and not lose herself, again, in his touch.

"I'm thinking about you and about me, about us, and I'm thinking about my brother."

Although the retired enforcer laughed, there was no humor behind the gesture. "Now, that's what every man wants to hear from the woman he's just made love to."

Although said in a way that was meant to tease her, the twenty three year old could hear the vulnerability to his voice, and she rushed forward to reassure him. "It's not like that, I swear."

"Then make me understand," he asked of her. "Tell me what it is like."

Although she was ready to tell him everything, she wanted a little reassurance nonetheless. So, moving her head just a fraction of an inch, Elizabeth brushed her lips against his, allowing her mouth to stall in its action to breathe him in. Fortified and confident about what she was going to do, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply once, and then repositioned them so that her forehead was resting against his. If she could trust him with her body, with her heart, she could trust him with her shame and guilt, too. Fluttering her lashes open, the brunette relocked their gazes together and started to talk.

"Did you ever meet Steven, my brother?"

"Once and informally," he responded. "Actually, it was more like we saw each other in passing," Jason expanded. "Sonny didn't really want his forensic genius, his inside man on the police force anywhere near me."

Although hearing the name of her former friend made the college graduate tense slightly, 

she, instead, forced herself to focus on what the man she lived with was saying. "What? Why not? Surely Steven was there to help you as well if you ever got in trouble."

He tipped his head in challenge. "Don't you remember what I told you about Sonny having me taken out… or so he thought?"

"Oh, yeah. That."

"Plus," he continued despite her revelation, "I was the brain damaged thug, the one with no conscious and no morals. I don't think Sonny wanted your brother to meet me, because he feared Steven might start to think all mobsters were the same way, and then he'd stop working for the organization."

"Well, that's just ridiculous," Elizabeth snapped, glaring, not at him necessarily but at what his words made her think and feel. "First of all, you're not all those things, and my brother wasn't some foolish, wet behind the ears, little boy. He was well aware of what he was getting himself into when he first went to work for Sonny. Of all the hypocritical, low-life…"

His laughter startled her into silence. "Who knew you were this protective? I think I like this side of you, but I also think you're forgetting what you thought about me yourself all those years ago. You hated me, so I'm sure you thought all those things about me yourself and more."

"No," the artist contradicted him. "I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"While I was scared of you and acted like I hated you, it was less about what you did to me on that beach long ago and more about my reaction to you."

She watched as the onetime hitman's face screwed up in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Despite everything that happened between us, I was…" She paused, bit her lip, rolled her eyes, and then confessed, all the while knowing that her cheeks were turning a brilliant shade of mortified crimson. Whispering, she finished her previous thought. "I was attracted to you."

"Really?"

Jason's eyes lit up with mischief, with arrogance, and she swiftly changed the topic, because she knew that, if she didn't, their discussion would stall for a revisit to more pleasurable activities, and she'd be forced into having to start their talk all over again at a later time. "Yes, but that's not the point right now. What I was trying to get at before was that, despite the fact that my brother would probably feel he was obligated to try – and fail – to beat you up for taking his innocent baby sister's virginity, I think he would eventually liked you, and, no matter what, I know that he'd be happy for me that I've found someone to love who returns my feelings."

This seemed to intrigue him. "Why do you think that your brother would like me?"

"Well, you're a lot like he was. You're polite and well mannered in your own, unique way, you're insanely protective of me, almost to a fault, and you think in a very methodical, scientific way just like Steven did."  


"And are you okay with that, with me reminding you of your brother?"

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth was quick to reassure him. "In fact, it's almost a comfort – like he's still, in his own way, here with me, even though I don't deserve such a thing."

The blonde's face visibly darkened. "Why would you say such a thing?"

The tears that had been gathering in her eyes disappeared at the sound of his astonishment. Blinking to clear her vision, she responded, "because I'm the reason he's dead." Voice rising to near hysteria, she yelled, "I essentially killed my own brother."

"No, you didn't."

"Of course I did," the twenty three year old countered, forgetting their previous intimacy and sitting up in the bed out of sheer frustration and her feelings of culpability. "If it wasn't for me introducing him to Sonny, he never would have gone to work for the mafia, and, if he wouldn't have gone to work for the mafia, there would have been no reason for Sonny to sit back and allow my brother to take the rap for a crime he committed. Because he wouldn't come forward for killing that undercover cop, Steven was sent to jail, and, because he refused to lift a finger to help my brother, Steven was beat day in and day out in prison because he was a snitch for the mob, and, because Sonny didn't want the case to go to trial just in case the authorities realized their mistake, he gave the order for my brother to be killed while he was in jail, and all that happened because of me – because I got raped and allowed Sonny to take care of me, because I was so desperate for someone to love me, that I befriended a crime lord, oblivious to the fact that he was just using me, and because I was so stupid, so naïve to think that I could have my own little family with Sonny and Steven if I only introduced the two of them to each other. That's how I know that I killed my brother."

"Elizabeth, you can't take responsibility for other people's actions. Sonny was a dangerous and selfish man long before he ever stumbled upon you in that park. How were you supposed to know that the only reason he helped you was because he knew who you were, that he knew who your brother was? And, even after you introduced them to each other, you didn't force Steven to accept the job that Sonny offered him."

"But I wanted him to," she protested weakly, but the former enforcer simply ignored her interruption.

"And you definitely weren't the one to make the decision to have your brother killed while he was in prison. If I know you at all, and I know that I do, you were probably doing anything and everything in your power to make sure that Steven survived and got out of the mess he was in alive."

"Well, of course," the brunette agreed, hiccupping slightly in an effort to fight back her tears. "I loved him. He was my brother, the most important person in my life at that point, but that doesn't erase my guilt."

"It's a guilt that only you see," Jason told her gently, "and I think the only thing that will ease it, that will get rid of it, is time."

She wanted to argue that she didn't deserve for it to go away, but she knew that was one thing the two of them would never agree on, so she, instead, refocused their conversation on another aspect of her past. "You know, I saw him just hours before he was killed, and, 

looking back on it now, I'm pretty sure that he knew what was coming."

"Why do you think that?"

"Although he was cryptic and acting strangely, I left knowing that I had to go to the bank and that I was to clean out his safety deposit box. Before he told me about it, I didn't even know that he had one." Taking a deep breath, the artist continued. "It was full of information on Sonny and the organization, among other things, and, even to this day, I'm not sure if Steven was just a pack rat or if he had been gathering information to go to the FBI himself. But, anyway, I took everything he had, and I went home, unsure of what he wanted me to do with the folders. Then, just hours later, news of his death hit the media, and I didn't even think about what I was going to do next. I simply called a taxi, went down to the PCPD with all that evidence just piled in my arms, and demanded that they call in an agent for me. And, now, all these months later, here I am. With you."

The last two words were said in a whisper, and they made the man she loved sit up to face her, mirroring the position she was in herself. With a soothing, almost hesitant touch, he lifted his right hand to her face, touching it carefully, conscientiously before using it to cup her jaw and pull her closer to him. Once they were close enough for their noses to brush together, he paused, nudged her countenance with his own, and murmured, his words floating around her almost like the melody of a exquisitely poignant song, "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth."

"For what?"

"For not knowing," he answered, pressing on with more reasons. "For not being able to do anything to stop it from happening or, at least, helping your brother, for being unaware of what was going on in the first place." He kissed her then, just a sigh of an embrace. "For not realizing what you meant to me long ago so that I could be there for you when you needed me."

"I've never heard you talk like this before." When the onetime hitman quirked one of his sandy brows up at her in question, she explained. "You always seem so sure of yourself and your actions, and I've never seen you look back with regret or think about what might have been if you had done something differently."

"You make me do, think, feel a lot of things I've never done, or thought, or felt before," he admitted sheepishly. This time it was his turn to blush, and the college graduate reveled secretly in it, for he looked adorable all flustered and embarrassed. It made her love him even more.

Confessing as well, she practically breathed her next words into his mouth. "You do the same thing to me, too. I guess it just surprised me, because, even when you were talking about Michael and losing him, you didn't seem as ashamed, as repentant." Elizabeth noticed his gaze cloud with tears and sadness, and she immediately lamented the fact that she had brought up his dead son. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"No," her roommate interjected, stopping her apology. "It doesn't hurt as much to talk about Michael anymore, and I never want you to feel as if you can't bring him up around me. I'll miss him for the rest of my life, and I'll always partially blame myself for his death, but that doesn't mean I don't want to remember him either. To answer your question," he expelled a swift, severe breath. "I've had almost a year to get used to the fact that he's gone, and I've come to realize that, even if I would have been around, he still could have 

been killed. The fact that I was his father was always a constant threat to his life, but Carly was as well. She had already turned to Sonny before I was shot, so she had placed Michael in his orbit with or without me there to protect him.

"With you, though, it's a fresh wound, hearing about how much your brother's death hurt you, about how much pain you were in, and I hate the fact that you had to go through that all alone. What you did – going through Steven's things, taking them to the FBI, and then turning yourself into the Witness Protection Program, those things could have gotten you killed."

"They still could," the petite brunette pointed out, not unkindly but simply presenting fact.

But Jason would hear none of it. "No," he disputed heatedly. "The whole purpose of us being placed here in Dovetree together in the first place was for me to make sure that you survive this ordeal, no matter what, and, now that it's more than just an assignment, now that you're more than just an assignment to me, I promise you that you'll make it out of this live, no matter what I have to do to ensure your safety."

"And yours as well."

"That doesn't matter," he disagreed, reaching for her, but she batted his hands away, glaring at him. Without realizing how absurd she looked, she fisted her hands at her naked hips, challenging the man she loved. Relenting, he admitted, "of course, I want to make it out of this alive, too, but you come first."

"I disagree."

"And you have the right to," he admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that, for me, you're more important."

She wanted to groan out loud in frustration, but she didn't. Sometimes the man sitting across from her was so stubborn, she could just scream. And then hit him. And then kiss him until she felt faint. But she did none of those three things, and, instead, changed the topic once again. "I think there's something else we need to talk about."

Jason grinned roguishly, finally succeeding in pulling her into his lap. "How about in the morning?"

"No, I don't think this will wait."

Teasing her, he replied, "well, neither can I."

Protesting, Elizabeth said, "I'm being serious here. We, well… You see… Everything just sort of happened between us, no thinking involved."

"That's always the best way," the onetime enforcer commented impishly, leaning forward to kiss the indentation on her chin then pulling back just an inch to lick and then bite it.

She battled on, though, determined to say what was on her mind. "We didn't use any protection, Jason!"

"Oh," he paused, seemingly distracted from distracting her. "Are you worried about…? I wouldn't be with you if I thought I could hurt you in any way or put into danger. I hope you 

know that."

"Of course I do," the artist reassured him. "I'm not talking about _that_. I'm talking about…"

"A baby," the blonde finished breathlessly.

"Yeah."

"Could you be?"

"I don't think so."

"But there's a chance?"

"A very slim one."

"But it's there nonetheless?"

The twenty three year old laughed. "You almost sound as if you hope I am pregnant."

"Would that be such a bad thing," he asked, shrugging nonchalantly. Smiling widely, he confessed, "I wouldn't mind. Would you?"

Grinning, too, Elizabeth divulged, "no, not really. But with everything that happened with Michael, I wasn't sure how you would feel about the idea of ever becoming a father again."

"It's scary, and, if it ever happens for us, you better be prepared for me to be your shadow."

"Oh, like that would be such a hardship."

"But I realize that what happened to Michael didn't happen to him because I was his father or because of the decisions I made; he died because of things that were out of my control, and I can't stop living my life because of it."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him on the lips softly, slowly, seductively. "Has anyone ever told you before that you're a very wise man, Jason Morgan?"

The only response she received was a snort, and, before she knew what was happening, he had her on her back and giggling beneath him. Finally, he commented, "I'm wise enough to know that I should take advantage of every single second we have together… just in case."

And she was wise enough to let him.

**XLV.**

The tracking device he wore on his ankle itched, but Sonny refused to move in order to scratch the annoyance. It wasn't like the effort would be able to afford him even a moment's relief. The monitor was a constant source of nuisance. If it wasn't itching, then it was just plain cumbersome, and if it wasn't itchy or cumbersome, then it ruined the line of his expensive, designer, one of a kind suits, and that did not make him happy. In fact, very little in his life these days did make him happy, but, at least, he was no longer in jail.  


It had gotten to the point where he wasn't sure he was going to be able to make it a day longer when his attorney finally came through and got him released on bail. The only stipulation, besides the usual don't leave town, was that he had to wear the tracking device, and he hated it. The electronic gadget was a constant reminder to him that he was under investigation and, soon, trial for racketeering, facing life in prison if not the death penalty… that was if he didn't get rid of the evidence against him first.

Partly, it was his own fault that he had gotten caught. He had gotten sloppy with Jason, allowing Johnny to simply leave his body instead of taking it with him to make sure that the former enforcer did not receive medical attention, but, really, what were the odds that an FBI agent would be the one to stumble upon him? And then there was Elizabeth - sweet, little Elizabeth who had served such a wonderful purpose for him for so long. When her brother had _mysteriously died _in prison, he had assumed she would either crawl under a rock and disappear or come begging back to him, desperate for someone to, at least, pretend to care about her. But the younger woman, apparently, had found her backbone, and she was now the government's second witness against him. The thing that bothered him the most, though, with the pathetic artist was that he had not predicted her actions, something he prided himself on being able to do.

The trial was set for March of the next year, leaving him with less than three months to find, take care of, and get rid of the witnesses set to testify against him, and, so far, they had nothing to go on. So, he had called a meeting, uniting only his most loyal men in his office down at the warehouse for an update, hoping one of them had been able to dig up something, someplace for them to start looking. However, looking at the various guards and associates, their eyes studiously avoiding his own, he knew that, once again, they had come to him empty handed. Well, except for one. Johnny looked to be fairly jumping out of his skin with anticipation, but he was there just as Sonny's protection; he had not been assigned to looking into Jason and Elizabeth's disappearances, so he had little faith in whatever it was the guard felt he had to report.

"Just spit it out already, O'Brien."

"So, I've been seeing this one chick, and, last night, she insisted that we go to the library. She has a paper due next week or something. Anyway, while I was waiting for her to finish up, I started playing around with those microfiche files. There's some damn interesting stuff on there."

Interrupting his story, the don hit the desk before him once, silencing the security expert. "I do not want to know nor do I care to know about your personal life, so either tell me something useful or shut the fuck up."

"There was this article on there about a married couple named Jack and Ellis Martin."

"That's wonderful, Johnny," Sonny mocked the younger man. "Beautiful even, but why in the hell should I give two shits about some random…"  


"They're not random," the Irishman insisted, earning himself a glower from his boss for cutting him off. "She won some local prize for some drawing she did of him, and they took their picture for the local paper. I think you'll recognize them." With that, he slid the Cuban a print out copy of the news article, smirking smugly.

"Well, I'll be damned…"

"Can you believe it," Johnny enthused. "Morgan and Webber, who would have ever imagined they'd end up together?"

"They're not married, you moron," the crime boss exploded. "The FBI put them together so that he could watch out for her. If you have a lethal hitman helping you out, you might as well put his skills to good use. Plus, we haven't been looking for a couple in our searches. No wonder it took us so long to find them, and I guess we wouldn't have if you didn't have a thing for inexperienced college sluts."

The guard grinned smartly, leaning back in his chair and resting his arms behind his head. "It appears as though my dating habits have more than one advantage to them, doesn't it?"

And, really, Sonny couldn't argue with that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Part Thirteen**

**XLVI.**

_Her husband_ looked much too smug for his own good.

They had been driving for hours, curling around the old, worn, country highways, inevitably getting closer to their destination, and, for the majority of the ride, they had remained in silence, not uncomfortable but mainly due to necessity. Because she was driving, Elizabeth had to pay attention to where they were going, both to navigate the trip properly and to circumvent and avoid the icy patches of pavement occasionally encountered along their journey, and Jason seemed perfectly content to just sit back, smirk, and watch her the entire time. He didn't adjust the heater's controls, he never once teased her or even made a single remark about the various radio stations playing continuous Christmas songs that she insisted upon listening to, and the thought of stopping to eat or even to go to the bathroom didn't appear to cross his mind once. He was the model passenger – aside from his arrogance, and it was driving her to distraction.

Fisting her hands tighter around the steering wheel, the petite brunette demanded, "you know where we're going, don't you? You figured it out, or you snooped through my itinerary, or you…"

"I wouldn't snoop," he interrupted her, his smirk curling into a crooked, lethal smile. "And, as for knowing where we're going, all I know is that it's obviously not the beach, and I'm thankful for that."

"Oh." It was all she could manage to say, for his response had taken her slightly by surprise.

There was no question of not believing Jason. No matter how much he could sometimes frustrate her with his calm and his self-assuredness, they were also just two of the many things she loved about him. And she didn't doubt the sincerity of his response either. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the former enforcer wouldn't lie to her. If nothing else was stable in their relationship – whatever that said relationship may exactly be, their trust in each other was. Plus, she herself had told him that they weren't going to the beach so he could pack appropriately, and their trip, thus far, had supported the fact that they would be staying in a snow ridden environment.

While still keeping both hands on the wheel and her eyes peeled studiously on their surroundings, the young artist tried again. "Well, then, you broke the rules, didn't you?"

"What rules?"

He really was too enigmatic for his own good, she realized in that moment. Sighing exasperatedly, Elizabeth clarified, "the rules we set about each other's Christmas presents."

He shook his head in denial, turned back to face the windshield of the SUV, and sat perfectly still, unfazed by her suspicions while, at the same time, appearing almost bored by her sudden inquisition.

"So, then, you didn't spend a lot of money?"

"I stayed under our budget… just like you requested."  


"Hey," the twenty-three year old protested, swiveling her head towards him long enough to glare in his general direction before returning her attention to the task at hand. "You agreed!"

"Yes, because your stipulations already fit with the gift I had been planning on getting you."

She felt her eyes go wide with astonishment, and she could do nothing to mask her amazed disbelief. Jason chuckled. "You already had my present picked out?"

Looking even more conceited, the blonde answered, "both of them, in fact."

Without being aware of what she was doing, the college graduate started to pout. Apparently, while she had struggled for weeks, even before they had agreed to spend Christmas alone and away together, with her thoughts on what kind of gift to get the man she lived with, he had been worry free, sitting back, and probably laughing at her constant distraction and troubled expressions. It didn't really surprise her. The retired hitman seemed to never second guess himself, something she was quite adept… even talented… at, but, still, his ease annoyed her. After all, she was supposed to be the Christmas freak, and he was supposed to be the innocent bystander she had simply drug along with her through her holiday insanity. But, now, evidently, the student had surpassed the teacher.

Distracting her from her thoughts, Jason continued. "And I also wrapped your presents myself… like you said I had to."

Glowering at him, she defended herself, "it wasn't like that."

"I know."

"Then why say…" Her words trailed off when she saw her roommate smirk for what had to be, at least, the twentieth time in the past four hours. "Nevermind."

She returned to her driving, mentally figuring to herself the fact that they would be at their destination in a matter of minutes. More than she was looking forward to the idea of spending several uninterrupted days with _her husband_, more than she was even looking forward to opening her presents from him, Elizabeth was excited for the moment when she could watch him realize that they truly would be alone for the holidays.

Because she believed the onetime enforcer when he said that he had no idea where they were going, she knew that he was probably expecting some lavish, four star, pampering mountainside hotel, and, though he would never complain about anything she chose, the diminutive artist was well aware of the fact that the man she loved preferred his privacy if he had a choice. So, despite the fact that she would have enjoyed having a restaurant close by, would have delighted in going to a spa and having maid and room service, the fact that she had, instead, booked them into a solitary cabin was a gift to Jason in and of itself, and she couldn't wait to see his reaction to said gift.

"Alright, I give up," she relented, physically supporting her surrender by, temporarily, tossing her arms into the arm in a gesture of futility and helplessness. "What have you been grinning about this entire trip?"

He laughed, obviously enjoying her distraction, before replying, "I knew teaching you how to drive would come in handy."  


"_That's _why you looked like the cat that swallowed the canary all morning?"

The blonde smirked – again – in concurrence.

"_That's _what you've practically been taunting me about for the past four hours?"

Jason shrugged, but it was enough of a gesture for the twenty-three year old to take it as a concession on her roommate's part.

"_That's_ why you've looked so pleased with yourself since we left the house?"

"Well, that's _part _of the reason."

She didn't say a word. Instead, she simply pulled into the private, secluded lane that would take them to the cabin she had rented for them. It, literally, was in the middle of nowhere. Miles stretched out between the place they would be staying and any other outpost of habitation in the mountain range. The retreat was in the middle of the woods, surrounded by virgin pines, and oaks, and maples, bare of their leaves but dense enough so that they would still feel lost in a sea of nature. The snow there was already deep and compact, perfect for afternoons of playing outside and evenings spent indoors, away from everything else, in front of a roaring fire with a loved one. And, as the path twisted for one final time and gave out to a clearing, their vehicle came to a stop in front of the rustic lodge, its windows bright with illumination and its chimneys already heated with the fires the owners had prepared for them.

"So," Elizabeth prompted, putting the car into park and twisting in her seat to face _her husband_. "What do you think?"

"It's not what I was expecting, but it's exactly what I would have picked myself."

It wasn't a passionate declaration of joy or even appreciation, but the brunette hadn't been anticipating such a thing from the retired hitman, and she wouldn't have wanted such an out of character response from him either. She didn't need Jason's words to reassure her that he both approved and liked the hideaway she had picked for them. Rather, she could see his admiration in his small but nevertheless sincere smile, and she could read his pleasure in his eyes, their normally sedate and relaxed corners quirked up in delight, and, in that moment, his happiness was everything and anything she needed or wanted for Christmas.

"Come on," the college graduate insisted, already climbing out of the SUV. "Let's go check everything out."

He followed her enthusiastic suggestion willingly, also stepping out of the car. Getting their bags from the back, he moved quickly towards the cabin, allowing her to fall into step behind him. It was exactly the opportunity she had been waiting for, and, taking advantage of it, she stopped in her tracks, bent down at the knees to gather enough snow into her bare hands to make a sizeable snow ball, and pelted it in the blonde's direction with as much force and accuracy as she could manage. It landed, with a resounding, echoing slap, square on his upper back, the ball flying apart only for some of the loose pieces to fall unnoticed to the ground while the others found their way under the collar of the onetime hitman's leather coat.

Elizabeth didn't even wait for the man she loved to react. Pivoting around on the toes of her snow boots, she took off in a dead run across the yard, weaving in and out of the closer trees until she reached what she believed to be the safety of the woods. But Jason was right there, catching up to her even before she had a chance to come up with the next leg of her plan, and, after being lifted and thrown over his shoulder like a naughty child, he carried her back towards the awaiting, inviting log house. But they never made it inside like she thought they would. Instead, when they reached a particularly deep snow drift, she felt herself falling, unceremoniously, to the ground and realized that _her husband _had dropped her on purpose. The powder fine snow saturated her clothes quickly, soaking through them, and, before the cold could even register in her mind, her entire form was shivering and her teeth chattering.

"Now," her roommate taunted her. "That should teach you how to play fair."

"Never," she laughingly pronounced, tossing back her rapidly curling chestnut hair in defiance as he lifted her back into his arms and, finally, carried her into their rented retreat. Despite the fact that he would soon be soaked, too, from holding her, Jason left their things, their suitcases, out in the cold, kicking the door shut behind him. Apparently, he had his own ideas of how they should spend the holidays, and who was she to argue with a man with a plan?

**XLVII.**

He was in trouble – big, serious, unfortunate trouble.

Before entering into the Witness Protection Program, Jason had been prepared for his life to change. One couldn't exist solely in a world of violence one's entire life… no matter how short that life may have been… and then become a regular Joe without encountering a few adjustments, but, perhaps naively, he had assumed those variations would be limited to his surroundings, his hobbies, and his behavior. The last thing the former enforcer had expected was to change as a person as well.

However, as he rolled out of bed early that morning, long before the sun had even considered rising to greet the day, he knew he was no longer the same man. Jason Morgan, mob hitman extraordinaire would never leave a warm, nude body alone to trudge out into the woods in order to do something sweet and kind. If he couldn't sleep, Jason Morgan mob hitman extraordinaire would wake up his sex partner as well, forcing her to keep him entertained, and, once he was exhausted enough to go back to sleep, he'd do so, whether the woman beside him was ready to or not.

His former behavior, though callous, wasn't intended to be so, but, rather, he was just who he was – prickly personality, selfishness, and detachment all rolled into one cynical persona. He existed for himself and no one else… well, until Michael came into his life, but that had long since passed, and he expected those he came into contact with to live the same emotionally disconnected way. If not, then that was their problem and certainly not his.

But Jack Martin didn't live that way. He was considerate of others, he participated in society under the typical constraints present in every other person's life, and, the strangest thing was that Jason Morgan enjoyed it. Although he had been prepared to live a life as a different person, he had not expected to embrace it, to lose himself in it, and the blonde knew the only reason he had been able to was because of one petite, oblivious brunette beauty.

Elizabeth had changed everything for him. Because she was in his life, he could understand how the small, seemingly insignificant things could become so important. The mundane, the day-to-day became what he looked forward to the most when, just a year before, he avoided such trivialities. So, that was why he was awake and trekking through the woods surrounding their hidden holiday retreat, searching for one last surprise for _his wife_.

Together, they had decorated a tree at home before they had gone on vacation. Despite the fact that they wouldn't actually be in Dovetree on Christmas day to enjoy it, Elizabeth had insisted, and he had gone right ahead with her near-obsessive holiday cheer. It made him happy to see her so carefree and jubilant, and even he had to admit, if only to himself, that there were things in life much more horrible than making paper chains with the woman he lived – and, now, shared a bed – with.

But that tree, their first as a couple, the artist had deemed it, was going to die while they were away, so Jason was determined to give her a second one. Though nothing elaborate, he had hiked out into the forest, wading through snow as deep as his hips, to find her a tree he thought she would like. Choosing one from the Christmas tree lot had been an experience in and of itself. They couldn't get anything too big, because the twenty-three year old thought too big of trees were pretentious, but, if they got one that was too little, they'd have nothing to decorate. Plus, she had wanted a tree that wanted to be taken home… whatever the hell that meant, so it had taken them hours to decide and eventually get the dead piece of wood home. And, while he had foolishly thought that picking one out for her on his own would be simpler, several hours later and soaked to the bone, he knew the opposite to be true.

Trying to find an appropriate tree through Elizabeth's eyes had been more difficult for him than it had originally been for her in the first place, but, success or failure, he was returning back to the cabin with a small pine trailing behind him in one hand and the ax that came provided with the log bungalow in case they needed to chop firewood in the other, looking rather grim and much worse for the wear. He had meant to surprise her, to have the tree set up and ready to decorate by the time she woke up, but Jason knew it was much later than he had anticipated getting back to the retreat, so Elizabeth would be up, and, knowing her, probably worried about where he was.

Dropping his things, he pushed his way inside, the heat of the indoors instantly melting his sodden clothes. Wherever he stepped, he left a puddle on the pristine, hardwood floors, but the retired enforcer paid the mess he was making little mind. It would be the last thing Elizabeth would be concerned about, and, frankly, he could care less. What he wanted was a cup… or several… of strong, black coffee while he sat in front of the fireplace all morning, and afternoon, and evening with the woman he was in love with. The only question was what that woman would want herself.

She must have heard him returning, because, before he had even stripped off half of his soaking wet clothes, Elizabeth was back into the main room. Rushing to his side to help him, she ignored the snow her slipper clad feet were stepping on, put down the two mugs she was holding, and immediately set to work helping him undress. They worked in harmony, never awkward, and perfectly in sync. When he was down to just his boxer-briefs, she left the room, returning shortly with a pair of sweats for him to slip on. Dressed and comfortable, the two of them made their way to the couch, the artist popping up only seconds after sitting down to retrieve their forgotten hot drinks.

"It's coffee," she told him, handing over the mug. Before he could take it, though, she added, "do you want me to warm it up or get you a new cup?" But he silenced her by 

removing it from her fingers and taking a long, pleasant gulp of the rich liquid. Placated, Elizabeth took a seat beside him, curling into his side, her own mug forgotten in her hands. She did that a lot, though – held her drink for its warmth instead of actually drinking it, and he found the odd quirk to be both adorable and purely unique to _his wife_.

Finally, she asked him, "where were you?"

"Couldn't sleep." While it was an honest answer, it also wasn't the entire truth, but Jason knew that would come eventually.

"You know, you could have gotten me up," the blue eyed brunette informed him, blushing slightly. Averting her gaze and making him smile affectionately, for she always seemed to get embarrassed still no matter how demure her reference to their newly discovered physical relationship was, the college graduate added, "I wouldn't have minded."

Giving her a slight squeeze, he admitted, "I know."

"So, what did you do," she inquired, twisting around to face him though still managing to sit in his embrace. Her legs were crossed underneath her, pressed up tightly against his left thigh, and his left arm was curled around her shoulders, absently stroking the feather soft skin of her exposed neck. It was a habitual, practiced caress, but, at the same time, he was, nonetheless, completely entranced be the mere touch of her.

Eventually, though, he pulled his attention away from her body and focused on her face, locking their gazes together before he answered, "for a walk."

"Down to the road, out into the woods, simply around and around the house," Elizabeth prompted, smiling at her own curious nature.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his own mouth hooking up in amusement. It occurred to him then just why the twenty-three year old got along so well with her garden club biddies… though he'd never tell her that. "The woods."

"You must have been gone for a while, because you were soaked, and, despite the fact that I know you claim not to feel the cold, you looked like you were."

The ex-enforcer shrugged. "Maybe a little bit."

"So, then, why didn't you come back sooner?"

Her brow was puckered in confusion, her lips pursed as she waited for a reply, and her eyes were alight with inquisitiveness and bewilderment, and, instead of wanting to answer her, instead of telling her all about his entire reason for going for the ridiculous walk in the first place, all Jason wanted to do was kiss her. But he didn't. Instead, he did what he thought Elizabeth would want him to do, and he told her what she wanted to know. "I didn't come back sooner, because I wasn't finished yet."

He could read her frustration in her expression, and that just entertained him even more. While he knew that his avoidance skills irked her beyond measure, he still enjoyed using them. So, he watched as she distractedly put her rapidly cooling mug down and then fisted her dainty hands on her curvaceous hips, the movement practically a challenge in and of itself. "Finished with what," she demanded to know.

"Your surprise." And, just like that, all ire vanished, and she immediately shot off the sofa like an impatient, criminally adorable child.

Rocking on the balls of her feet, Elizabeth asked needlessly, "you got me a surprise?"

Shaking his head in response, the retired hitman responded, "it's on the porch. Go and see for yourself if you want."

And she did just that. Running to the front door, she threw it open without thought to either the elements outside or the mess he had just made on the floor mere minutes before. However, her reaction to his gesture shocked the blonde, and he stood to confront her. Slowly, she shut the door, practically doubled over in giggles.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, Jason," Elizabeth sighed, crossing the room to take his much larger frame into her arms and wrapping herself up in his hug. After several moments, she pulled away, lifting her hands to frame his face. "I love that you did that for me – that you went out into the woods and cut me down a tree, but I'm afraid it was all for nothing."

"What? Why?"

"We don't have a tree stand," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "There's no possible way we can decorate it." Instantaneously, he felt his shoulders slump with defeat, and, when she rushed on to reassure him, he knew the artist could detect his rapid shift in mood as well. "Hey," she recaptured his attention, lifting up on her tiptoes to shyly press her own lips to his. "It doesn't matter if we can use the tree or not, because it's still the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Elizabeth…," he started to protest only to be interrupted.

"No, honestly, I swear," _his wife _insisted, innocently crossing her fingers over her shirt where her heart would be underneath – as if his protest was because he doubted her sincerity and not because of the fact that she had just called him romantic. "If it's one thing I wouldn't joke about, it's Christmas."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, he proceeded to ask, "now what?"

"Well," she replied, chewing on her lip. It was a dead giveaway that she was already concocting a plan. "There is something else we could do."

"And that would be what?"

"Didn't you tell me that you prefer trees in their natural environment?"

Tugging on his earlobe, Jason answered, "yeah," unsure of where the woman he loved was going with her current train of thought.

"Alright, so why don't we have one of your trees this year, too," the artist suggested. "My tree is at home in Dovetree, but we can have yours here." Excitedly, she clapped her hands together, running into the kitchen before he could protest. "We'll decorate one in the woods," Elizabeth exclaimed.

Collapsing back down onto the couch, the retired gunman could only grin in amusement. Already lost to her idea, he could hear the brunette moving about the kitchen, popping popcorn and talking to herself. He would do whatever she wanted – even if that meant decorating a tree outside which he found even more absurd than putting one up inside and decorating it, and, by the time his roommate returned with string, needles, popcorn, and cranberries, he was resigned to the fact that he would be helping with her ridiculous project. As long as it put a smile on Elizabeth's face, he was game, and that was the main reason why being in the Witness Protection Program had changed him so much. He no longer lived for himself, doing whatever he wanted to make sure that he was content and as comfortable as possible; he now lived for the woman he loved, doing whatever was necessary to make sure that she was content and as comfortable as possible. It was surreal, really, but he liked the changes in himself nevertheless.

They had been working for several minutes in peaceful quiet when, out of nowhere, Elizabeth started giggling uncontrollably beside him. He watched her, then, going from interested to bemused to downright baffled when he couldn't figure out what had the brunette laughing so hard. Finally, when he couldn't take the suspense any longer, he blurted out, "what's so funny?"

"You," the twenty-three year old stated, wiping at the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "I guess what they say is true," she continued, explaining herself. "You can take the man out of his life a crime, but you can't take the criminal out of the man." Snickering again, she teased him, "I can't believe you went out into the woods and cut down a tree. Jason, do you realize how illegal that is?"

He didn't, and he hadn't, but, again, like all the felonies he had committed before, he really didn't care, so, to shut her up, he picked up a handful of popcorn and threw it at the college graduate, distracting her. But that was just another difference about him, for, a year before, Jason Morgan would never have started a food fight, and he liked that change as well.

**XLVIII.**

No matter what she did, Elizabeth could not stop fidgeting. As far as Christmas and presents went that year, she was of two distinctly different mindsets. While she was practically bursting with anticipation when it came to what Jason had gotten her, she was timid and downright embarrassed to give him his present, because, truth be told, she had been utterly clueless as to what to buy him. Jason was the type of guy that, if he wanted something, he just went out and bought it for himself. The only thing she knew of that he desired but couldn't have was a motorcycle, and she very well couldn't go out as Ellis Martin and buy _her husband _a bike. Besides being unpractical on her small, part time salary, it was also something they were forbidden from doing by the FBI.

So, she had settled for something cheesy and corny, something that, when she was a teenager she had found to be unbelievable cute and endearing, but, now, as an adult, she had to wonder just how high up in the clouds her adolescent self had been hiding. But it was too late to worry about the former enforcer's reaction now. The closest shopping center was over an hour away, and it wasn't like she could just drive down there on Christmas morning, demand that they open the mall for her, and then take her time to peruse the various wares offered by the overpriced stores. If she wanted her gift, and she really, really did, then she was just going to have to suck it up, find her courage, and give the man she 

loved what could possibly be, in her estimation, the very worst Christmas present on record.

However, that didn't mean she wasn't going to do so without warning. "Before I give you this," the brunette artist cautioned, her roommate's present hidden safely behind her pajama clad back, "I want to apologize."

"For what?"

"You probably got me some unbelievably wonderful gift, and there's no way that mine is going to measure up."

"Elizabeth," the blonde spoke up, his voice meant to be soothing and reassuring, but it only seemed to set her nerves into overdrive. "I'm sure whatever you got me is fine. In fact, you didn't even have to get me anything. This – being with you, being with you here, alone…. Really, that's all I need… or want."

"Well, you may say that now, but just you wait…"

"I'm not going to change my mind," he informed her, catching her stubborn chin in his hand and holding her head still so that he could look her in the eye. "Now, relax," Jason told her. After several deep breaths on her part, he asked, "do you want me to go first?"

"No," she was quick to contradict him, yelling out her response. "Nice try, buddy," the college graduate added with a teasing lilt to her voice, "but that's not going to happen." Squaring her shoulders, she began again. "Anyway, about your present, I really had no idea what to get you. Do you know that you're impossible to buy for?"

The retired hitman shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know. No one's ever really gotten me a gift before."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Elizabeth exclaimed, becoming frustrated. "This just keeps getting worse."

"How do you mean?"

"So, not only am I going to make a fool out of myself because what I got you is completely lame, but, now, you're telling me that I was unwittingly trying to make up for years of present disregard? This is unbelievable!"

He snickered, making her frown. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Says you," she scoffed, "the man who probably managed to get me the best gift I've ever received in my entire life."

"Well, your gift will be that for me as well," Jason pointed out.

"Yeah, but only on default!"

"Look," the former enforcer pointed out. "There's only one way to find out. Why don't you quit stalling and just give me your present. Let me be the judge of just how _lame _it is, alright?"

"If you say so," the artist agreed, removing her hands from behind her back and shoving a heaping pile of cards into his own open palms. They were all decorated according to the holiday and detailed with beautiful, graceful, flowing calligraphy, but she could tell by his expression that the man she loved had no idea what they were. That was, until he started to read them, at first, silently to himself, and, then, to her utter mortification, out loud.

"'Good for one free win during an argument,'" Jason said so that both of them could hear, the words coming directly from the pages off the card he was holding. Glancing up at her, he taunted, "I sure hope there are several of these in this pile," only for the twenty-three year old to respond by shoving his shoulders.

Quickly, he made his way through the pile, choosing to point out several that he particularly liked. "'Good for one non-traditional, physical serving of dessert.' 'Good for one night with your choice of my sleepwear, no matter how minimal said choice may or may not be.' 'Good for one sketching lesson. You get to pick the subject.'"

On and on the blonde read, further humiliating her. There were 365 cards, one for every day of the year to come, and Elizabeth couldn't believe the fact that her roommate insisted upon reading through each and every one of them. By the time he finished, she was as red as the Christmas decorations they had hung up in the house in Dovetree, and he was so amused, she couldn't have wiped away the grin that illuminated his face even if she tried.

"I think you're better at this whole present thing than you think, Webber," the onetime enforcer teased her, leaning over to kiss her lips tenderly. Although it was a simple statement and an even more simple, almost habitual gesture for the two of them at that point, both things combined managed to inform her just how much her gift had meant to him, and, with that realization, her discomfort disappeared, only to be replaced by excitement at the prospect of her own present, once again. Jason seemed to sense her anticipation, for he leaned over in bed and pulled out her wrapped gift from his nightstand drawer. "And I think you've been patient enough," he told her, laughing when she didn't even wait to rip the paper away.

She tore frantically, unbelievable curious, and what was awaiting her underneath the packaging didn't disappoint. Reverently, the artist removed a framed marriage license and gasped when she read the names printed on the thin yet unbelievably significant piece of paper. "Jason and Elizabeth Morgan?"

"Obviously," he explained, "it's not real. Yet. I got a blank license from the courthouse and did the rest myself, but I just wanted to show you that this… what's happening between us, I'm not taking it for granted. I WILL marry you, Elizabeth Webber, someday, and, when I 

do, I'm going to be doing so as Jason Morgan, not Jack Martin, and not some other made up, fake person. That's a promise."

"And it's a perfect one," she replied through a wide smile and glittering, tear studded lashes. "This is… this is amazing."

"That's not all, though," he informed her, reaching over for a second time to his nightstand drawer which she noticed was left open. After pulling out a second gift, a smaller package, he closed the wooden table, turning back around to face her. This time, she slowly unwrapped the present, taking her time, for she wanted to savor every second. Finally, what was revealed was a simple, unpretentious jewelry box, and, upon opening it, the twenty-three year old found two matching, gold wedding bands, one small and petite and obviously meant for her left hand and one much larger and rather masculine, and she knew the it would someday rest upon the hand of the man she loved.

"The rings we wear now are Jack and Ellis Martin's rings," the onetime hitman explained, allowing his fingers to caress the white gold band she wore, "but, when this is over and we someday return to our normal lives, I want to replace those rings with ones of our own. That is," he stumbled with his words for the first time that morning, "if that's what you want, too."

And she did.

While it was insane and rushed and unbelievably impulsive, the only thing Elizabeth wanted when she returned to Port Charles was to be with Jason. She couldn't imagine her life without him in it – as her husband, as her partner, as the man she woke up to in the morning and slept next to at night.

As the father of her children.

So, wordlessly, she accepted _her husband's _unconventional marriage proposal, realizing that their first – and only – Christmas as Jack and Ellis Martin would also be their first of many as Jason and Elizabeth Morgan. Whether they were already legally married or not, she thought of them as being that way, and she knew that the man she loved felt as if she was his wife already as well. And that – that knowledge, that reassurance, that promise, was what they really gave each other for Christmas that year, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, they would never be able to give each other a better present no matter how many times in the future that they tried.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: So much time has passed, time that I do not have a good excuse for, since the last time I posted on this story. I had every intention of rereading all the back chapters before I started working on it again, simply to refresh my own memory of all the little character and storyline details, but I didn't have the patience to do so. There's something about rereading my own work that I just hate. I think that's why I'm such a bad self-editor, so, with that in mind, I just jumped into this post, rolling up my sleeves and typing away. If there are any inconsistencies, I apologize in advance, but, please, point them out to me, and I'll try to fix them. Other than that, I also need to apologize for my long absence and to thank everyone for not giving up on me, for being patient. While I won't sit here and say that I'm back for good, I do take this chapter as a good sign that my muse is returning full force, and, if so, it shouldn't take me too long to finish this story. After this post, there are only three more parts that remain. However, I'm not naïve enough to set an end-date for myself, especially with my current, unpredictable schedule. So, for now, just enjoy this chapter, and, hopefully, I'll be back with another one soon!_

_~Charlynn~_

**Part Fourteen**

**XLIX.**

_Elizabeth Webber _snored.

It was just one of the many differences he was slowly beginning to notice between the woman he loved and Ellis Martin. The endearing noise wasn't constant. In fact, the brunette sleeping beside him needed to be positioned just so in order to, apparently, be comfortable enough to make the soft, whistling sound. She had to on her back, her head tilted slightly up, and her hands tossed behind her to rest curled up on her pillow. Her mouth hung open faintly, her lips just barely pursed and separated, and, if Jason didn't know better, just by glancing at her, he would believe her to be a young, innocent child.

But she wasn't. She was a woman, a woman finally comfortable enough in her own skin, finally comfortable enough around him to let go completely. Although they had been living in the same house together for months at that point, that particular morning was the very first one he had discovered her hidden _talent_. While, realistically, he knew it just might have been something he missed when the baggage of their pasts was still separating them, they had been sharing a bed for some time now, and never before had he heard the adorable sound. The realization told him that the former artist was finally and absolutely at ease with him; all her self-preserving guards and protective shields had crumbled, and, instead, she was lying before him perfectly defenseless and trusting that her vulnerability was safe with him. And it was.

Taking one last gulp of his scalding black coffee, the retired enforcer reached across the expanse of the bed he shared with Elizabeth and put the empty mug on his side table. He had been up for quite a while already that morning, waking early without alarm or provocation, perfectly rested after just a few hours of undisturbed slumber. He had dressed to go outside, shoveling and salting the driveway before the sun was even up. He had come back in, made a strong pot of black coffee, and proceeded to drink almost all of it by himself while he continued with his morning routine: showering, getting dressed for work, and playing a few rounds of pool. However, he cut his cue time short, instead preferring to spend the morning in bed with the woman he planned to someday marry, simply watching her as she slept the dawn away.

The indulgence was turning into an everyday occurrence, but, for the first time in his short life, Jason didn't mind the fact that he was becoming so predictable. The routine, the steadiness of life in Dovetree suited him, and, though he sometimes cursed the monotony of the town and his job, there were certainly advantages to living life on the straight and narrow. He didn't miss the gunshot wounds and the busted ribs that came with his old existence, and he certainly didn't miss being at someone else's beck and call, responsible for seeing to other people's every whim and wish. He liked the fact that, if he wanted to do nothing but tinker in the garage all weekend, here such a thing was acceptable, but, most of all, the blonde preferred having the chance to have someone special in his life without running the risk of them falling prey to his disastrous decisions when it came to his lifestyle.

As soon as they testified against Sonny and he was locked away for life, his organization dismantled from the top down, he and Elizabeth would be and safe to pursue any life they so desired. While chances were Dovetree would no longer be an option, some other small, rural, close knit community would be, and, if that was where she wanted to live, he would happily, contentedly join her there. Or they could relocate to a large city, perhaps one with a thriving art scene, and Elizabeth would finally get the chance she deserved to pursue her art career. The world would soon be at their feet, the possibilities endless, and, with every day that ticked by, the two of them got closer and closer to freedom. It was a surreal feeling.

Rousing the onetime hitman from his thoughts, the woman beside him started to stir, her snoring ceasing as she twisted and turned, snuggling deeper into the mounds of blankets piled high atop of her as she tried to force herself back to sleep. But he refused to let her do so. That was another difference between the Jason Morgan of Dovetree and the Jason Morgan of Port Charles. Thanks to the brunette beside him, he had finally learned how to be selfish, and, on that particular morning, he decided to embrace that new aspect of his personality.

Sliding down so that he was reclined beside the woman he loved, the blonde simply propped his head up on one hand. Touching Elizabeth, though he always seemed to want to, wouldn't be necessary to wake her. Through practice, he knew that just looking at her would be enough to provoke the woman into opening her own eyes to stare back at him. And he loved that moment every morning, the moment where Elizabeth's unguarded, completely open gaze would meet his for the first time, her indigo irises cloudy with dreams yet bright and warm with love. It was the very image he took with him every day to work.

"Good morning."

Grumbling good naturedly, the former painter asked, "what's so good about it," her lids already drooping back closed. Despite her words, though, she moved closer to him in bed, curling against his side and resting her head against his t-shirt clad chest.

"You seem tired this morning," Jason offered as observation instead of answering her sarcastic question. Smirking arrogantly, he asked one of his own. "What has you so exhausted?"

The only response he received was a tilting back of the brunette's head so she could quirk a finely shaped brow in his direction, and he laughed in response. The woman he lived with seemed to always be tired, one of those people who needed more than the recommended eight hours of sleep per night to function properly the next day, but it was impossible for him to remain beside her in their bed all night without interrupting her slumber. Luckily for him, she never complained. Rather, she enthusiastically met his midnight advances, but, come morning, every morning, he would pay the price as she fought him tooth and nail when it came time to wake up.

"It's late," he informed her, softening his words with a brushing of a kiss across her crown, her unruly, curly hair tickling his lips. "I let you sleep in, but, if you don't get up soon, you're going to be late for work."

Elizabeth sighed dreamily. "I'm off."

"Well, then, I'm going to be late if you don't get up so you can give me a ride."

While turning over to face the opposite wall, the petite college graduate responded. "I'm running errands today with Evelyn. She's driving, so you get the car." Punctuating the end of her statement, the fluffy down comforter was pulled over her head.

The onetime enforcer snorted. "That should be scary. I think her sensible pumps are filled with lead. With the way that woman drives, I'd rather you were going shopping with Betsy.. nosing questions and all."

"Don't be cruel," the brunette returned, and he could tell by the sound of her voice, despite being muffled by the blankets, that she was grumbling. "Oh, and just to let you know, you being all cute and trying to make jokes, bad ones though they may be, won't get you what you want."

"Really," he queried, purposely sounding doubtful. "And what's that?"

"A goodbye kiss."

"Well," Jason conceded. "That would be a good start."

Instead of uncovering herself, the woman he loved just teased back, "now look who's going to make himself late for work."

"Trust me, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

This time it was Elizabeth's turn to grunt. "Too bad I'm too tired for _that_."

Sitting up on the bed, the retired hitman reached for his work boots, pulling them on and tying them as he spoke. "Well, then, I guess it's a good thing that all that snoring you did this morning didn't manage to put me in the mood."

The only response he received was a pillow to the head. Grinning to himself, he stood up, making his way towards the open doorway of the master bedroom. Just as his feet were about to cross the threshold, he heard the brunette behind him sit up as she called out his name. "Jason, wait!" Hiding his smirk, he did as he was bid. The beauty, dressed only in the sheet she had procured from their bed to wrap around her otherwise bare frame, smiled sheepishly and blushed. "I love you."

He crossed to her then, kissed her forehead, and then the corners of her eyes, her chin, and, finally, her nose before pulling back. "I love you, too. See you tonight."

"Yeah," the woman who would soon be his wife for real if he had anything to say about it agreed with him. Rolling herself back up in the blankets as she laid back down, she repeated his last word, its presence on her lips making it sound like a promise. "Tonight."

Jogging down the stairs, Jason laughed softly to himself. Knowing the two of them, they'd spend that evening exactly where they spent their morning: in bed.

**L.**

"Every year, we always help the elementary school kids plant a flower bed. Betsy throws a fit, because the entire thing turns into a circus, and the children absolutely refuse to listen to her when she tries to sprout off to them about the virtues of a well planned garden. Instead, everything gets placed all hodge-podge, but, would you believe it, no matter what, those flowers always turn out to be the prettiest any of us worked on all growing season.

"Anyway, while school is still in session, we take turns going over to help the students weed and water the garden, and, once summer begins, the kids are supposed to follow a signup sheet they volunteered for to come and help us. Now, half of them never show up, for one reason or another, but those who do always work hard and appreciate the project. Once school starts back up again in the fall, we use the flowers to make arrangements for the teachers, helping the students place the buds in vases and teaching them all about the art of floral arrangement.

"Typically, Didi spearheads this project for obvious reasons, but we had lunch last week, and we were thinking that, since you only work part-time, Ellis, that it might be something you'd be interested in doing instead. Plus, being around all those children might put some ideas into that stubborn head of…"

Interrupting herself, Evelyn Shepherd stopped the slow yet gradual progression of her grocery cart and titled her head in question towards her much younger, brunette friend. "You do realize that you just picked up _white _chocolate, don't you?"

"Weird, huh?"

"I would certainly say so," the grandmother agreed. "In all these months that I've known you, Ellis Martin, you've never once eaten white chocolate, and, trust me, a piece of candy is never far from your fingers."

"Don't ask me," the newlywed shrugged, dropping the bag of sweets into the larger portion of the cart, her portion. Despite the fact that Evelyn only needed to pick up a few items at the store that day, she had insisted upon pushing the metal buggy, figuring the less her friend had at her disposal to offer distraction, the better. She and Jack had been back from their Christmas vacation for over a month, and she had yet to find out exactly where they had gone and what they had gotten each other for presents. The one thing that she didn't have to ask – what they had done to occupy all that valuable alone time, for it had been quite obvious when Ellis returned ready to rival any brightly illuminated Christmas tree, was the only thing the brunette would talk about, summarizing their entire getaway with a single sentence, claiming they had used the time to 'better acquaint themselves with each other.'

As if she didn't know what that meant. The two of them were so ridiculously in love. At first, when they had moved into Dovetree, they had seemed quiet and reserved, quite private, in fact, with their relationship, and, though they certainly didn't flaunt their intimacy, it was obvious that, the longer they lived in the small town, the more comfortable they became expressing their feelings for one another around their friends. They didn't just hold hands in public anymore. When they thought that others weren't looking, they would sneak soft kisses and whisper sweet nothings in each other's ear. And the looks the two of them would share sometimes… Well, if Evelyn didn't know better, she would believe they were the sole cause of global warming. Their stares were potent; the heat generated between them could cook an ant, just like the magnifying glasses little boys who were obsessed with torturing animals would use in the summer.

It – their marriage – was beautiful, and she loved seeing her dear friend that happy, and it was because of the couple's bliss that she had started to _ever so_ _discreetly_ drop hints to the younger woman that it might be time for them to consider starting their family. While she already had grandchildren that she adored, there was nothing that said that the widow couldn't adore and spoil honorary grandchildren just as much. Besides, even she was big enough to admit that she was dying of curiosity to see just how gorgeous a baby of Jack and Ellis Martin's would be.

Recapturing her attention, the brunette stated, "I've never really been a fan of white chocolate before. I mean, I don't dislike it, but, without thought, my hand naturally went towards it. You don't think I'm bored with my regular candy, do you?"

Trying to be helpful while still getting her two cents worth in, the elderly woman suggested, "maybe it's a craving." As she watched her friend pivot around and walk off, she laughed gleefully to herself, scrambling after the petite beauty. "Oh, don't get your thong in a twist. I imagine that would be quite painful." Even with the thought, Evelyn's face scrunched up in misery.

"My thong?"

"Well, yes," she defended. "I've heard that's what all you young girls where these days. You know, I'm not completely out of tune with the times, no matter how it might seem."

This time it was Ellis who laughed, and she couldn't help but return the young woman's wide, charming smile. "Alright, I concede," she agreed without being asked to do such a thing. "I will make no more baby or pregnancy references… at least until we get to the mall, because, I have to tell you, El, I saw this adorable bedding set last week while Cate and I were shopping, and I just know you're going to adore it. For now, though, let's get back to what I was saying earlier." As she continued to lead them down the candy aisle, the elderly woman pressed on. "What do you think about my idea that you take over the school gardens project?"

Silence greeted her.

"Ellis," she questioned, elbowing her friend lightly. "Are you even listening to me?" When she still received no answer, the grandmother started to worry. "Is something wrong? Are you feeling…"

"Do you hear that?"

Caught off guard by the odd inquiry, Evelyn glanced around the practically soundless store. Finally, she responded, "I really don't hear anything," and, oddly enough, she found her voice to be a matching whisper to the younger woman's beside her.

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry, dear, but I'm not following you. Why is a quiet grocery store such a bad thing?"

"It's bad because it's unusual, and, if there's one thing I know about danger, it's always silent right before something really catastrophic happens."

"Oh, El," the older woman dismissed, laughing softly. "That's preposterous. You're just paranoid."

"Am I," her young brunette challenged. "Think about. Right before a tornado strikes, they always say things get eerily quiet. The eye of a hurricane is always still and foreboding. And if someone is trying to harm you, to sneak up on you, they're not going to be loud while doing so. Something is wrong; something is not right, because a store is never this quiet, even when it's practically empty."

In horror, Evelyn watched as her friend picked up her purse out of the cart, her wide, scared blue eyes dodging rapidly back and forth around them. "Stay here. Don't follow me," Ellis warned, her words of advice coming across more like orders than cautions. "And, whatever you do, do not say that you know me. From this moment on, you've never heard of Ellis Martin… or Elizabeth Webber."

"Who," the silver-haired matriarch asked, but, before she received an answer, her friend was gone, disappearing out of sight into another, far away portion of the grocery store.

**LI.**

He hated the radio.

It wasn't so much the constant noise, for, after working on a very talkative construction crew for more than half a year, he was used to the chatter; it was the sheer loudness of it, the ear-piercing wails of the guitar, the head pounding thump of the drums, and the screechy, fake laughter of the DJs' that got on Jason's nerves. However, the other men seemed to enjoy it. In fact, some of them even sang along or took breaks in their work to make themselves look foolish as they, as he had been told, played the air guitar. But all he wanted to do was tell his coworkers that they were supposed to use the tools to get their job done and not try to act like one. Not that anybody would listen to him… even if he did decide to break his usual code of silence while at work.

While the other guys seemed to like talking to him, he really didn't say much in return. Instead, he would just nod his head and, sometimes, offer a word or two of mindless agreement, and that alone seemed to be enough to keep them appeased. He was known as the listener of their group. Whenever someone had problem at home with their wife or with their kids, they would come to him, offering their grievances in return for his advice. He didn't tell them anything, though; instead, he simply allowed them the space and time to work their issues out on their own, barely even acknowledging their presence let alone their complaints.

And Tom, his boss, was no different. He always seemed to gravitate towards the former enforcer, choosing to work side by side with his employee rather than stand tall and intimidating as he watched over his hired help. Jason respected him for that. However, that didn't mean that he listened any more to the older man than he did anyone else, and such attention wasn't really necessary anyway. He didn't ignore people out of spite or even rudeness; it just was simply who he was.

Besides, Tom usually talked about the same subjects everyday anyway, either his racecar or how Amanda had been pestering him to invite Jack and Ellis over again for dinner. The invites he would dodge, and the engine talk he would absorb, once again allowing his friend to come to his own conclusions without Jason's input. Such lax attention skills allowed him to zone out, to think about other things that were actually important to him, namely Elizabeth, and that particular day happened to be no different.

As his boss rambled on and on about how it was never too early to start building one's new engine for the upcoming race season, insisting that, no matter what, he'd get Jack's help on his pit crew team that year, Jason worked on, continuing to lay the small, geometrically square black and white tiles along the shower stall of the master bathroom they were remodeling that day, his mind constantly drifting to the woman he loved.

He wondered if she was up yet or if she had decided to cancel her plans with Evelyn and, instead, just lounge in bed all day. While he knew which of those options he preferred to think about, he also knew that Elizabeth wouldn't do that to the elderly woman, so, then, his thoughts veered towards what his someday wife might be doing – if she was grocery shopping or having hot chocolates at the local diner. And he wished that it was he who was accompanying her around town that morning and afternoon while she completed her errands, all the while drowning out the blaring drone of the radio while halfheartedly listening to his friend.

"You know, I thought I might switch up my paint job for my car this year," Tom told him, sounding excited about his idea. "I've always gone safe in the past – white with my sponsors being applied in color, but I'm feeling lucky. I'm feeling like this is the year for me to win it all, and, if I'm right, shouldn't I do so in style?"

Halfheartedly, he asked, "what did you have in mind," but his boss never seemed to notice his lack of interest in their current conversational topic.

"Bright orange," the older man answered. "Amanda will hate it, but I'll just tell her it'll help her keep a closer eye on me while I'm on the track. And I was thinking that I'd keep my sponsors' logos to coordinating colors – reds, yellows, a little black and white. What do you think, Martin?"

"I'm thinking that I can't believe you just said the words 'coordinating colors.' What, are you planning to give up the construction business for interior design?"

"Very funny," Tom deadpanned, punching the onetime hitman in the shoulder. Continuing on, though, despite not actually receiving an answer, he said, "and I was thinking that we'd give away sunglasses with my name and racing number on them, telling people that they would need the things as they watched my car blow past the other drivers."

Contradicting him, the younger man asked, "we?"

But Jason's employer just laughed, going back to his own work – installing the new electrical fixtures along the bathroom vanity – while the blonde resumed his tiling. He couldn't focus, though, couldn't really get into a pattern of activity that would make the job that much easier and more proficient. Although it was a rare feeling for him, he knew that he was distracted. Something, and he didn't know what, just seemed… _off. _It was almost as though he had a bad feeling. But he knew better than to give voice to his worries. Rather, he just hoped that his boss wouldn't notice his lagging work skills that day.

Twenty minutes later, though, when Tom climbed down off his short ladder, he realized that he would have no such luck. "Jesus, Martin," the older man swore, coming over to glance at his work. "You're slower than molasses today. What gives?"

Vaguely, he replied, "just distracted."

"Aw, I take it the little missus has your mind far away from your job, doesn't she?"

Normally, Jason would have just agreed with the man to silence him. Though he didn't appreciate the guys referring to Elizabeth as 'the little missus,' as the months had passed, he realized that they didn't do so out of disrespect. That was just simply the way they talked, even about their own wives. But, on that particular day, he was just too anxious; his sense of apprehension was just too strong, so the younger man found himself giving vent to his concerns, filling Tom in on his fears.

"I just… I have this feeling that something's wrong."

Before his friend could reply, one of the other guys walking past the bathroom yelled out a quip for all the other men to hear. "Get this," Gary taunted. "Martin, here, thinks he's a fortuneteller now. All he needs to do is grow his hair out long and start wearing flowing robes, and he could be Dovetree's own personal gypsy. After all," his coworker teased. "He's got the cheekbones to pull off the look."

"Cheekbones," their boss returned the ribbing, gawking in the younger man's direction. "Would you listen to this fairy? The next thing you'll know, he'll want us all to start getting facials with each other, manis and pedis, too, on our days off."

All the men laughed, going along with their employer as they continued to goad Gary, but Jason couldn't care less. He turned his back to them all, not even bothering to thank Tom for standing up for him. After all, what did he care if the guys thought he was crazy? If there was one thing in the world Jason Morgan believed in it was his instincts, and, in that moment, they were screaming at him that something wasn't right.

"Listen, man," his boss tried to reassure him. "I'm sure everything's fine. If it wasn't, Ellis would call you. Your cell phone hasn't…"

Quieting him, the blonde turned towards the radio, readjusting the volume dial in order to better hear what the emergency news bulletin had to say.

_"Sorry for the interruption, folks, but we'll get back to the music in just a minute. Word just came across the wire that the local town of Dovetree appears to have a hostage situation on their hands. An armed man, just moments ago, stormed the community's grocery store. Early reports claim that the attack was not random, that the gunman is after an intended target. Police have not been successful, so far, in either gaining further information or infiltrating the building, and no demands have been set. As more information comes our way, we'll be sure to tell you, our loyal WXYR listeners, all the breaking…"_

"Jack," Tom tried, once more to bolster him, even going so far as to walk across the bathroom towards him. "Ellis is fine. What are the chances that she's even in that place right now?"

"She's there," he responded, his tone empty and dead, completely void of emotion as he started to map out his next moves. Standing, he simply walked away, knowing that his boss was hot on his heels. "She was running errands today with Mrs. Shepherd."

"Well, then, they could be anywhere – the diner, the mall, the post office, the…"

"I _know _that she's at the grocery store."

"Even if she was and I'm still not saying she is," the older man commented, running after him as Jason quickly exited the house. "There's nothing you can do over there but get in the way. Don't do this, Jack; don't go playing the lone ranger and think that there won't be consequences for you walking off the job like this. We might be friends, but I can't show you any special treatment."

"I'm not asking for it," the blonde refuted. "And I'm going whether you approve or not. Fire me if you have to. I don't care. Eliza… Ellis needs me, and I'm not going to let her down, not this time."

As he reached his SUV, he unlocked the doors with his remote, reaching into his back pocket for his cell phone all in the same action. "Take this," he ordered his employer. "I need you to call Agent Maloney. His number's listed in the directory."

"Ag… agent," Tom stumbled over the word. "What the hell is going on here, Jack," he demanded to know. As Jason opened the glove box and removed two fully loaded glocks, shoving one into the back of his jeans while keeping the other firmly encased in his left hand, the older man pressed on, "if that's even your name. I just… I don't understand…"

"Tell him about the hostage situation, and he'll know what to do." With one last glance at his boss, the former enforcer once again stated, "call him," and, with that, he pivoted around, slamming the car door shut, and he ran to the opposite side of the vehicle. Without even bothering to glance at his surroundings before he pulled out, he left the job site, fully intent upon getting to Elizabeth.

Suddenly, he loved the radio.

**LII.**

Really, in the end, it had been quite easy getting into the grocery store. Once he had avoided detection by the police, choosing to cut across to the building from a side alley rather than approach it from the front where all the cop cars were uselessly parked, Jason had climbed onto the roof and entered the secured premises through the ventilation system. The general hum of the refrigerators and the behind the scenes appliances helped to mask his approach, and he used the sound of the gunman's voice to carry him towards his intended target.

The effortlessness of his actions, though, in infiltrating the hostage situation only increased his lack of respect and general dislike for all things law enforcement related. If the police would just once take a proactive approach to solving a crime, he knew they would be rewarded for their efforts with actual success. Instead, though, they were merely reactive, allowing, in this particular case, to let the gunman dictate their actions. Fortunately for Elizabeth and all the other hostages, Jason Morgan was not a man, unlike the cops, to sit on his laurels and simply wait for a resolution to come to him; he went after what he wanted, he took care of any obstacles standing in his way, and he did so with the attitude that the consequences be damned. Some called him reckless, other called him a menace, but, when push came to shove, the only reason they were left talking was because he had taken the initiative to do the unexpected, the frowned upon.

"For the last time," he heard the gunman shout, his voice reverberating through the onetime enforcer's head as he crawled through the ductwork. "I'm not fucking around here. I will shoot every single one of you mother fuckers if I have to. The only way you can save yourselves is if you bring me Elizabeth Webber… or, as she likes to call herself now, Ellis Martin. She's the only one I want."

Just hearing her name on the stranger's lips set Jason's teeth on edge and made him clench his jaw. Elizabeth had been hurt far too much already by his former world, by his former boss, and there wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind that the hostage situation was on Sonny's doing. While he didn't know how the kingpin had found them, he wasn't altogether surprised either. In his old life, nothing was impossible, including getting around the FBI and the Witness Protection Program, but what compounded his anger was the fact that he had gotten so comfortable, that he had let his guard down as he just enjoyed life on the outside with Elizabeth. He knew better than to ever relax, but it was not a mistake he was going to make twice, and he would be damned if the woman he loved had to pay the consequences for that mistake now.

Sliding further towards the front of the store, he heard the gunmen ranting once more. "Look, look around you," he ordered his audience, his captives, "and see what your refusal to cooperate has accomplished. Absolutely fucking nothing," the man answered for them. "People are shot and bleeding to death because you all refuse to give up one stupid, disloyal bitch. Do you think she'd do the same thing for you? Hell no," the stranger refuted his own question. "She's hiding… like a fucking coward, letting the rest of you take the fall for her actions, allowing all of you to suffer for her selfishness. All you have to do," he tried to coax them once more, "is tell me where I can find the little unfaithful cunt…"

Rushing, because, quite frankly, he couldn't stand to listen to the gunman's words any longer, Jason raised his glock and fired off three hasty shots all in the hostage taker's direction. The barrel of his gun fit precisely through the grates on the ductwork, allowing the bullets to pass through freely without hindrance. The first one struck the man's shoulder, propelling him around so that his face ended up towards the ex-hitman. Although surely painful, the wound was certainly not debilitating. However, the second shot hit its target squarely in the chest, and, as the gunman dropped to his knees, the third bullet landed in the gunman's left eye socket. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

Kicking open the grate, Jason dropped to the nearest shelf, using the hanging metal of the opening to ease his distance down the multistoried space. Jumping off the perch, he immediately started jogging through the store, completely oblivious to the shrill questions and frenzied, heartfelt thank-you's from people who had witnessed the results of his actions. But he could have cared less about what they thought or what they wanted to know from him. He didn't care that they wanted to were curious as to how he had gotten into the building, and he certainly wasn't concerned about their inquiries into how he knew how to fire a weapon so expertly. The only thing he cared about was finding Elizabeth, and, as he searched for her, he forced himself to ignore the carnage surrounding him, to ignore the unknown faces of the petite brunettes he passed by, all of them wounded to various degrees, some of them probably unlikely to make it out of the situation alive.

In the candy aisle, he found a shell shocked Evelyn who was clutching her grocery cart, unmoving, as if her very life depended upon maintaining control of the metal buggy. However, her friend and the woman he loved was nowhere in sight, despite the fact that they were supposed to be at the store together. "Mrs. Shepherd," he greeted her cautiously, softly, knowing that he couldn't startle her in fear that such a thing would cause the woman to shrink inside of herself even further. "Do you know where…?"

But she surprised him. Despite her rather listless appearance, her eyes were still bright and very much aware, and, in answer, she raised a trembling hand towards the far end of the store, pointing a delicate finger in the same direction. "She ran that way." He started to follow her given route, but she called out for him, stilling his movements. "Jack… or whatever your name is…?" Although he was in a hurry to find Elizabeth, he paused long enough to, once again, face the elderly woman, for it was what _his wife _would want him to do. "Just… take care of her, of Elizabeth." Smiling crookedly, tears seeped into the aging grandmother's bright blue gaze. "The name Ellis never did quite suit her, did it?"

It was a rhetorical question, he knew that, but the blonde found himself responding anyway. "No," he agreed, "it never did." And, with that, he took off running through the grocery store once more, going up and down every aisle, yelling, screaming the woman he loved's name, _her real name, _as loudly as he could. Never before had he ever felt so desperate, not even when he had received the overwhelmingly painful news about Michael.

Just when he was about to give up, he heard a shy, timid, yet, at the same time, confident voice as Elizabeth called out to him. "Jason!"

In disbelief, he watched as she pushed aside cases of pop to reveal herself and her hiding place on a bottom shelf. Crawling out from the tight space, she kneeled on the floor for just a moment before pushing herself up into a standing position. The beautiful, crazy, distracting woman had done exactly what he had told her to do if anything bad ever happened to her in Dovetree: to find the most secure location she could and wait there until he could get to her, and her faith in him just made him love her even more. She had survived a mock-hostage situation and a gunman who had been sent to kill her without a scratch… or so it seemed, but, as he moved towards her, frantic to feel her safe and secure in his arms again, he watched in disbelief as she crumbled before him, her captivatingly emotional eyes rolling up into the back of her head as she fainted.

Just as he had promised himself, though, he was there to catch her… like he always would be… as long as she was still alive and in his life.


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Fifteen**

**LIII.**

Thankfully, Elizabeth had only been unconscious for a few minutes. Without waiting to speak with the police who were still trying to come to terms with what had gone down in their sleepy little town and without asking for help, Jason had gotten the woman he loved out to their vehicle as quickly as possible, bypassing all the concerned questions and curious stares, and, en route to the hospital, the brunette beside him had opened her eyes, reassuring him that, no matter what, he would make sure that she was okay.

Elizabeth had been quiet, though, hesitant to talk about what had happened to her. When he had asked her if she was physically alright, if she had been injured, she had been quick to reassure him that she was just fine, but she thought it was a good idea that they went to the hospital, just in case. She knew that he would want her to be checked out by a doctor, and, despite knowing he would protest, she had asked him if he would consent to the same. He told her he refused to lie to her, and she seemed to understand that was his way of saying that he wouldn't and not to keep asking him.

But that was the last that she had said anything. While he drove on, she had curled into herself, turning to look out the window at the passing scenery without reaction or response. Her silence had nearly brought him to his knees. He needed her to need him, to reach out to him in search of comfort and support. But she didn't. She didn't ask him if they were safe now, and she didn't seem to want to know any of the details about how he had been able to get to her or how he had been able to take care of the gunman. It was almost as if those were the last things on the artist's mind, as if she was someplace else, thinking of other things, and, even though he wanted her to trust him enough to confide in him, Jason didn't press her. Instead, he focused upon the one thing he could do that would be proactive: he drove.

When they had arrived at the hospital, she hadn't put up a protest when he insisted upon carrying her into the emergency room. When the front desk nurse asked what was wrong, she never once spoke up, simply allowing him to tell her that she had been involved in the hostage situation in Dovetree and that he wanted her checked out to make sure that she was alright. And when a nurse came to take her away to an exam room with a wheelchair, she had simply held onto him tighter when he refused to let go of her.

Finally, once the doctor arrived, asking for some privacy, Elizabeth had nodded in his direction, telling him wordlessly that it was alright, that she was alright, and that he could do as the doctor requested and leave them alone. He hated being away from her, even if he knew she was safe, but the few moments allowed him a chance to call the agents who were already on their way.

The former mob enforcer had never liked hospitals. The clinical smell made his skin itch, and the bright, deceptively painted, cheery walls made him feel trapped and imprisoned. The sensations were only made worse by the fact that he had no idea what would happen when Maloney and Houston arrived. Their cover had been blown to pieces, and the one thing he had been told to do – to keep Elizabeth safe no matter what – he had failed miserably at. So, not only was he worried about the woman he loved, but he was also fearful of their future, of what the FBI would do next in order to keep them alive until they could testify against Sonny.

Thankfully, before his worries could get the better of him, forcing him to seek the solace of the fresh, clean air outside, Elizabeth's physician had informed him that he could go back in with _his wife_ and that she would allow Mrs. Martin to give him the good news. Of course, the blonde had not hesitated in listening to the older woman's instructions. By her words alone, it was obvious that the college graduate was healthy and unharmed, and, for that, he was thankful, but, when he entered Elizabeth's hospital room and saw the regretful, almost pained expression upon her beautiful face, he had become concerned anyway. Even if she was physically alright, there was a very good chance the events at the grocery store had affected her in other ways, ways that would prove to affect them and their new relationship that Jason wasn't prepared for or prepared to accept.

Slowly, he crossed the small, antiseptic room, taking a seat on the stool already positioned at her bedside. Without waiting for an explanation, he took Elizabeth's right hand in the both of his, squeezing it softly, perfectly aware of the precautionary IV's marring her delicate skin. In that moment, there were so many things that he wanted to tell her – that he loved her, that he was glad she was alright, that he was thankful they were able to be there together, no matter what the circumstances were, but none of those things would come to his lips, and, instead, the onetime hitman found himself whispering something else entirely. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely, his shoulders slumping forward with the overwhelming admission. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth."

Because his head was bowed, he didn't see the anxiety and the uncertainty that flared in the brunette's already tearful gaze. "What for?"

"For, for everything," he stumbled, grasping at thin air for a way to put his sorrow to words. Finally looking up, he met her stare, his own lighter, equally as emotional eyes piercing those of the woman he loved. "For not keeping you safe, for not going with you to the store, for not getting there sooner, for… what this life has done to you."

"Oh, Jason," she murmured, reaching up with her free hand to wrap the slender digits around his neck and pull his head forward towards her own. Once their foreheads were touching, their mouths only inches apart as their breaths whispered and mingled together, she continued. "I don't blame you."

"But I blame myself. I did so many things wrong, things that I…"

Interrupting him, she protested. "There was no way for either of us to know that our cover had been blown, and you got to me as soon as you could. I know that. As for you being responsible for me being in this life, that's just ridiculous. I was the one who befriended Sonny, I was the one who trusted him enough to introduce him to my brother, and I was the one who took what I knew and went to the FBI. You had nothing to do with any of those decisions, Jason, so you can't blame yourself." When he went to dispute her reassurances, she wouldn't allow him. Instead, she kept talking. "And the only reason that I'm safe, that I'm still alive, is because of you.

"While you might not have realized it, all those months ago when we first moved here and you were trying to tell me things that would keep me safe if ever a dangerous situation presented itself, I was listening, and I remembered you telling me how it always gets quiet right before something really bad happens. Well, that's how I knew that I had to hide this morning. Evelyn and I, we were just… talking." Swallowing roughly, she pushed the sudden, unwanted sobs away and simply focused on what it was that she wanted to say. "It was like every other time we have gone shopping together. She was harassing me about you, and I was distracted, but then I noticed how still the store suddenly was, and I panicked. I'm pretty sure that Evelyn thought I was going insane, but I was right, and the only reason that I knew enough to go and hide was because of what you taught me. You did that, Jason; you were the one talking to me inside my head, keeping me safe; you were the one that made me stay where I was and not go forward when that gunman started threatening everyone else as a way to get to me."

He wanted to argue with her, to deny her claims, but he realized in that moment that he was too selfish to do so. If Elizabeth wanted to believe that he had saved her, that he was good for her, Jason knew that he could not be the one to disappoint her. For his own peace of mind and happiness, he would allow her to put him on some ridiculous pedestal that he did not deserve, because he needed her in his life that much, and, truth be told, the fact that the woman he loved believed in him so much was gratifying. No one had ever truly had faith in him before, had trusted in him so completely, and it felt good to be someone's, to be Elizabeth's first, last, and always. So, instead of fighting her, he simply closed the distance between them, kissing her sweetly.

The embrace was light, merely a promise of future embraces, but it was enough to reassure the both of them that they were exactly where they were supposed to be. "Thank you," the ex-enforcer sighed, grateful for both her love and her trust.

"You're welcome," Elizabeth returned, cementing her statement with a gentle kiss to his lips of her own initiating. Pulling back far enough so that she could peer, once again, into his eyes, she added, "and thank you… for everything."

He simply nodded his head in acceptance of her praise.

"Will you tell me something," the petite brunette asked, suddenly nervous and uneasy. Allowing his gaze to leave her face, he glanced towards the artist's hands and found them anxiously twisting and clenching the sheets that were pooled in her hospital gown clad lap. "You're probably not going to like it, but I need to know the truth, Jason. I need to…"

"I'll tell you anything," he promised her, simply eager to put her mind at ease again… if such a thing was even possible at that point.

But, still, the woman he loved refused to look at him, and, as she spoke out of the corner of her mouth, he watched as her sharp, white teeth pierced the skin of her bottom lip, drawing blood. "How many… did anyone…?" Pausing momentarily, she at last lifted her gaze to his. "Did anyone die because of me?"

And he couldn't lie to her. Despite wanting to protect her, despite wanting to shield her from any unnecessary pain, the onetime hitman knew it would be more upsetting in the long run for Elizabeth to be lied to by him than it would be for her to face the truth, because it had taken her so long to believe in someone again, and, no matter what, Jason refused to break the bond they had, over the past few months, built with one another.

"Yes," he admitted, clearing his throat of all the emotion he felt before he could continue. "One woman died on her way to the hospital. She bled out. There was nothing they could do for her." Before she could ask any more questions, he told her everything else that he knew. "There's another woman in critical condition, but they think that she'll make it. She's going to need surgery, though, to stop the internal bleeding. The other two victims are stable and expected to make a full recovery."

"The woman who died," Elizabeth wanted to know, already fighting back the sobs that would match the tears flowing smoothly and uninterruptedly down her pale face. He wanted to reach up in order to dry the saline tracks, but Jason knew the college graduate needed the emotional release just as much as he hated having to witness her so upset. "Did she have a family, children?"

Despite being caught off guard by her inquiry, for he had not been expecting it, he responded anyway. "I'm not sure. If you want, I can try to find out for you."

"I don't know," the brunette answered truthfully. "A part of me wants to find out, but the other part of me doesn't. Can I… can I think about it and get back to you?"

"Sure." As far as he was concerned, Elizabeth could do anything and everything she ever wanted.

Before he could adjust again, the mood seemed to shift between them once more, and Jason was left to play catch up. Without conscious thought, a grin formed on his face, one to match the one he saw before him on the countenance of the woman he loved. "There's something I need to tell you, something else about why I hid from the gunman, even when he was shooting at other people."

To say that he was baffled by her strange shift in moods would be an understatement, but, at that point, the onetime enforcer was just relieved to see the painter smile again. However, before he could ask her what it was, the door behind them opened, and, without glancing over his shoulder, he knew it was the two agents assigned to their case.

"Miss Webber," Bill Maloney greeted her. "We're glad you're alright."

Without missing a beat, his partner demanded, "Morgan, get your ass out into this hallway now. We need to speak with you," and, unlike the older man's voice, Agent Houston's contained absolutely no warmth.

"It's okay, go," Elizabeth insisted, letting go of his hands and slightly pushing them away from her. "I'll either be here when you get back, or I'll be getting ready to leave. Either way, it's fine."

He hesitated but only for a moment. Sparing one last glance in the brunette's direction, he followed the two men out of the hospital room, eager to get their confrontation over with. Now that he knew the woman he loved was physically safe and, at least, not entirely emotionally wrecked, the very last thing he wanted was to be away from her, but their security had been breached, and he knew that was not something that could be ignored. However, with that said, he did not want to confront what the FBI would want to do to rectify the situation, for he had a feeling he would not like their new plans.

**LIV.**

"We're separating the two of you."

And there it was, the very thing he had been expecting the FBI to decree, but, at the same time, it was the very last thing that Jason wanted to hear, and, despite the futility of the action, he wasn't prepared to back down or give in without a fight. So, offering up the first argument that came to mind, he stated, "we don't even know if Elizabeth was the target." He knew it was a lie, but he was hoping that the agents weren't aware of the fact yet, because, if they weren't, that would give him more time to figure out a way around their plans.

"Don't be naïve, Morgan," Houston hissed, narrowing his gaze at the ex-hitman. "Every single victim was short, petite, and brunette, and even the preliminary reports that we've been receiving from the local law enforcement has Webber's name all over it. Literally. That gunman was after her, and the only reason that girl is still alive is because you got to him before he could get to her, however sloppy your shots were."

Sending a scorching glare towards his partner, Agent Maloney picked up the reins. "We're grateful that you saved Miss Webber's life, Jason, but your cover has been blown. Corinthos obviously knows where the two of you are."

"But he only sent one man," the blonde argued, desperate to persuade them into a different course of action. "Maybe he thought it was a long shot, or maybe the guy wasn't acting on any orders, maybe he was rogue and trying to impress Sonny by showing up at his doorstep with Elizabeth's…" Swallowing roughly, he switched tracks slightly, "… with proof that the job had been taken care of."

"Even if that was the case, in a matter of hours this entire town is going to know that you and Miss Webber are not who you've been claiming you are. Gossip like that in a place this small, it's going to spread like wildfire, so there's no way you can remain here. As for the gunman being rogue, we've already identified him, and he's one of Corinthos' men," Bill informed him. "And we both know that he was sent here alone in order to be discreet, just a ripple in the wave pond. Sonny Corinthos is too smart to send an entire army after you and Miss Webber, and he's also too smart to back down now. While he might have failed this time, he'll keep trying until he either succeeds in killing you both or he runs out of time and his trial starts. It's our job to make sure that the latter occurs."

"Fine," Jason agreed harshly, stepping away from the two agents, "but I still don't see why Elizabeth and I have to be separated. Whether it was messy or not, the only reason she's still alive is because of me," he informed them, meeting both man's gazes and challenging them to dispute his point. "Set us up somewhere else or send us out of the country, whatever you want, but, no matter what, we're going together."

Speaking up once more, Adam Houston denied, "that's not possible, and who the hell do you think you are to make demands of us, Morgan? We're the fucking Federal Bureau of Investigation. The only reason your ass isn't in jail or worse right now is because we gave you a very generous deal, so shut the fuck up, and do as you're…"

The rest of his words were swallowed as Jason lifted him off the ground and pinned him against the wall. "I don't like you, Agent Houston," he informed the cocky, sycophantic man gasping before him. "You rubbed me the wrong way when I first met you, and I know that you made Elizabeth feel ill at ease. You're an opportunist who doesn't give a damn about the people you serve; you're in it for the fame, for the promotions, for the glory. In fact, take away your badge and cut your hair a little shorter, and you'd remind me a younger, slightly less crooked version of my old partner." Shaking the agent for good measure, the retired hitman warned. "Now, listen up and listen well. I love Elizabeth, not because Jack was supposed to be married to Ellis, but because of who _she_ is, and, if anyone is going to make sure that she remains safe, it's going to be me."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Bill trying to talk to him, and he could feel the older, out of shape man pulling on his arms, trying in vain to get him to release his partner, but Jason refused to do so until he had made his point. Then and only then did he allow Houston to drop to the floor, crumpling up in a cowardly heap as he fought to remain conscious.

"And Miss Webber," Agent Maloney asked, sounding genuinely interested in what the blonde had to say. "How does she feel about you?"

Looking the government official in the eye, he answered, "she agreed to marry me, for real this time, just as soon as we're free of this mess."

"And I will do everything within my power to make sure that actually happens for the two of you," Bill swore vehemently, and Jason found himself believing the older man. "But you have to do this, Mr. Morgan. You have to trust us enough to keep Miss Webber safe for you. This wasn't something I came up with, and it wasn't Houston's decision either to separate you. This came from someone higher up, someone not even you can get to or influence. I'm afraid there's nothing you, me, or even Miss Webber can do about the situation. You're just going to have to trust us like we're trying to do with you."

When it came to Elizabeth, he just couldn't do that, and he was about to tell the balding man just that when a fourth person joined their small group, speaking up and changing every single dynamic they had previously been operating under. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Agent Maloney," the woman he loved warned, and Jason could hear the slight smirk that was no doubt quirking her lips influencing her voice. "After all," she pressed on, delivering her one and only blow necessary to dismantle the FBI's plans. "I highly doubt even the US Government would separate me from my unborn baby's father. You see, Agent Maloney, Agent Houston, I'm pregnant."

Turning around, the former enforcer smiled widely in the brunette's direction. Not only had she managed to get redressed and check herself out of the hospital without anyone's help, but she was also the smartest, quickest person he knew. While he wasn't sure what made her think of saying such a thing, he was glad she did, for she had just made sure that they wouldn't be separated, and Jason didn't think it was possible he could ever love someone as much as he loved her in that moment. Elizabeth Webber was amazing.

**LV.**

After three very long hours of the second degree by the agents assigned to their case, Jason was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief as he let himself and Elizabeth into their motel room for the night. While they had traveled a state away from Dovetree, Houston and Maloney had taken advantage of the car ride and used the uninterrupted time to not only question the two of them about the events earlier that day but also to demand answers when it came to their personal life. Despite the fact that neither he nor Elizabeth had offered them anything more than what had been said at the hospital, the FBI operatives had been ruthless in their pursuit of information, even going so far as to claim that Jason had taken advantage of Elizabeth's situation. The woman he loved had been quick to dispatch both men of their rather unfavorable ideas.

And, so, now, at least for that evening, they were currently holed up in a motel several miles off the interstate, one that looked quite run down on the outside, no doubt in order to repel too much attention, but was nice enough on the inside that it told Jason that the feds must frequent the building often enough to keep it equipped quite comfortably. Apparently, the façade was just that – a staged appearance to distract and deceive civilians, much like many of the safe houses he knew Sonny owned.

Tossing his jacket onto an empty chair by the one window that took up the majority of the east wall, the retired hitman immediately relaxed as soon as the door closed behind them, turning to and pulling Elizabeth into his arms, enveloping her into an embrace. He simply held her for several seconds, burying his face in her neck as she clung to him just as tightly. It was the first time that they had truly been alone together since that morning without either other people lurking nearby or the sounds of the hospital permeating their privacy, and, while it had only been a mere ten hours, for Jason, it felt more like ten years. So much had happened that day, and all he wanted to do was close out the rest of the world and disappear into the woman he loved.

Finally pulling away, he led the brunette over the bed, holding her hands the entire time even after she had sat down. Kneeling in front of her, he reached for her left foot first, removing the boot she wore and putting it aside before repeating the process with her right foot as well. Then he helped her remove her coat, tossing it onto the chair where his still remained. Standing back up, he sat down beside her, toed off his own shoes, and then twisted around to face her, finding Elizabeth to be mimicking his actions as they met in the middle.

"You were wonderful back there at the hospital," he complimented her, leaning forward to kiss her lightly. "I have no idea what made you think to tell the agents that you're pregnant, but it was brilliant. There's no way they'll be able to separate us now."

"I'm glad you think that, Jason," the college graduate started only to pause and take a deep breath, her shoulders and chest visibly rising and falling with the action, "because I am."

"You are? You are what?"

"I'm pregnant," she clarified, "for real." Rushing on to further fill in the blanks for him, she explained. "I wasn't lying to the agents when I told them that, and I'm not sure how far along I am or when it happened, but I didn't make this up just so that we can stay together. If that's a result of me being pregnant, then great, because I really don't think I could stand to be away from you, especially now, but this is not some big trick or…"

Without allowing her to finish her rambling thought, he cupped her porcelain, unbelievably soft cheeks in his rough and scarred hands, bringing his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was insistent and yet gentle at the same time, reverent and passionate, and, when they both had to pull away to take a much needed breath, Jason refused to allow any distance between them, instead bringing Elizabeth further towards him as he practically pulled her on top of his lap. There would be no possible way he would be able to get close enough to her that evening. Not only did he need to feel her next to him in order to convince himself that she really was alright, but he needed to show her just how happy he was with her news.

So, to do so, he made love to her mouth, sipping greedily from the unique taste of her lips, his tongue seeking and mating with her own as he worshipped her. From holding her in his lap, he moved them both so that she was laying beneath him on the bed, their bodies stretched across the width of the mattress, her long, luscious, curling hair flowing over the edge. As he memorized her flavor once again, he ran his fingers through her locks, clenching and unclenching his fingers in the wild, untamable mane as he rocked their fully clothed bodies together in a sensuous, unique rhythm only they knew the count to.

Their embrace possessed him for quite some time, but, eventually Jason needed more; he needed more of her, so, regrettably, he pulled his lips away from her own long enough to pull her sweater over her head, leaving her torso completely bare except for the delicate, sheer bra she wore underneath. Taking advantage of the situation and the fact that her mouth was finally free, Elizabeth asked, "so, you're not mad? I know we said that we wouldn't mind having a baby, but I really didn't think it would happen this quickly. I mean, six months ago, we hated each other."

"I never hated you, Elizabeth, and I really don't think that you hated me either."

Playfully glaring at him, she stated, "you know what I mean."

"I do," the former hitman conceded, uncurling his hands from her hair and bringing them back so that he could wrap them around her own that lay out to either side of their intimately connected bodies. "And of course I'm not mad. Is this the best time for us to be having a child," he asked rhetorically, already planning on answering the question himself. "Realistically, no, but if two people in love waited until things were perfect to conceive a baby, they'd never be parents.

"I'm happy that you're pregnant," he confessed, watching as Elizabeth's eyes twinkled with unabashed gaiety and excitement. In that moment, everything else around them had disappeared, and it was just the two of them, their love, and the child they had created together out of their love. "As for everything else, we'll figure it out as it comes," he told her, "because, no matter what, I will do everything within my power to make sure that you and our baby are both safe."

"And we'll keep you safe," she promised, lifting their conjoined left hands to kiss the ring he wore to both symbolize Jack Martin's commitment to his wife and his, Jason Morgan's, commitment to her. While it still was the platinum band the FBI had provided them with and not the gold one he had gotten her for Christmas, it was obvious that the little scrap of metal still meant something to Elizabeth.

Smiling down upon her, the ex-enforcer lowered his head towards hers once again, this time his kiss telling her there would be no more talking, at least for a little while. Deliciously slowly, he made love to her that evening, savoring her nearness, celebrating their closeness, and relishing the fact that all three of them were still alive.

Some time later, with only the warmth of his naked body surrounding her own to keep Elizabeth comfortable as she slept, Jason lazed the fingers of his right hand up and down the arm of the woman he loved. She was fast asleep, obviously exhausted by both the events of the days and the rapid changes occurring within her body, not to mention their passionate coupling. Despite the fact that he couldn't see the physical proof of her pregnancy yet, he knew that their child was growing safely inside her, and the fact that he now had two people to love and protect made the ex-hitman just that much more vigilant and alert. He wasn't sure if he would be able to sleep again until Elizabeth gave birth.

However, the one thing that he was certain about was that he could no longer depend upon the FBI and the Witness Protection Program to keep them out of harm's way. It had been one thing to trust the agents assigned to their case when it was only been Jason's life that he was worried about, but now the blonde had a family. He had a wife, even if he and Elizabeth weren't legally married yet, and an unborn child to shelter and love. He couldn't hope any longer that things would turn out the way he wanted them to; he couldn't hope that the trial would put Sonny away and that the Cuban's organization would be dismantled, piece by illegal piece, allowing him to eventually return to Port Charles and the few people there he still cared about. Instead, he was going to have to guarantee his family's safety any possible way he could, doing whatever was necessary to ensure that they received the chance to enjoy the happy future they deserved himself.

The first thing he needed to do in order to accomplish that was to get both he and Elizabeth away from, as she liked to call them, Frick and Frack. Considering the fact that the agents were never far from their side – hell, they had the adjoining motel room beside them, and that the building was surrounded by local officers in plain clothes, escaping from the FBI's clutches would be no easy feat, but, if there was one thing Jason Morgan knew how to do well, it was run circles around law enforcement. And, then, after they got away, there were some old colleagues that he needed to contact, men who, if offered the right incentive, could be persuaded to join with him against Sonny.

He needed someone stronger than the United States government to keep his family safe, and he knew exactly how to get what he wanted.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Before we get to this second to the last post, I will tell you that no one guessed correctly about who Jason turned to for help. Remember, Johnny was the one who was sent after Jason; he was the one who shot him on Sonny's orders and set this whole story into motion, so, for obvious reasons, Jason wouldn't be turning to his old co-worker for assistance. Also, keep in mind that this is not the same Jason as you know from the show. He was never as personally involved in the organization as we're used to seeing, so the other guards couldn't be an option or him either. As always, thank you so much for your amazing feedback. I enjoy reading each and every word of it, and I hope that you all enjoy this next post. Please keep in mind, though, that after this chapter, there will only be one more part remaining to this story, and, after that, this fic will be over. Done. Complete. Finished._

_~Charlynn~_

**Part Sixteen**

**LVI.**

It had been a long 48 hours for Bill Maloney.

When he and his less than congenial partner had arrived in Dovetree, they had been set on a clear course of action, one handed down to them from their superiors, and, after a quarter of a century in the bureau, he knew better than to question those above him. But Elizabeth Webber had blown their plans out of the water when she had announced her pregnancy.

Personally, he had been secretly pleased with the revelation. When he had first broached the idea of pairing Jason Morgan up with the young college graduate to his bosses more than six months prior, he had hopes that the two of them would be good for each other. Despite his reputation, the aging agent had seen something within the ex-enforcer that he liked, that he could appreciate. While the man was quiet and slightly more than a little uncooperative, he was also loyal, strong, and had a strange, practically ingrained sense of right and wrong… as oddly as that might sound. Yes, he had, at one time, killed people for a living, but he had never raised his hand in violence towards an innocent and even seemed to go out of his way to help anyone in need.

As for Elizabeth Webber, well, to be frank, she was the daughter Bill had never had but had always wanted. She was sweet and kind but strong enough to stand on her own two feet, and, though life had pushed her down, he could still see a vibrant spark for living underneath all the pain and guilt she carried around with her. And she was talented, too. Although he hadn't been able to see much of her artwork, that which he had been able to sneak a glance at had been impressive, and he had hoped that, by forcing the two witnesses to cohabitate together under the FBI's protection, they would eventually learn to heal and take strength from one another.

Apparently, they had managed to do that and quite a bit more. Sure, their timing could have been better, but he knew as well as anyone else did who had fallen in love before that such things could not be planned or choreographed. They happened when they were supposed to happen, and not even the FBI could control a situation enough to prevent two people from developing feelings for one another or conceiving a child out of said feelings.

So, while Houston had spent the last two days ranting and raving to their superiors about Morgan's defiance and about how the goon should be put down for assaulting him, he, on the other hand, had used their time holed up in the little out of the way motel to concoct a new plan, one that would ensure that, while they got to remain together, Jason and Elizabeth would also be safe. It had taken a lack of sleep, several heated arguments with his bosses, and a severe case of indigestion, but he was sure that he had finally managed to do what he had set out to do.

While Sonny Corinthos might have the power to infiltrate the Federal Bureau of Investigation, to break through their witness protection program, not even the powerful gangster could go up against the United States Military, so he had suggested – and had the suggestion approved – that the former hitman and the onetime artist should be squired away to a naval base so far out at sea that they were practically lost to civilization. They would be flown in, dropped off, and then picked back up the day the mobster's trial started, and, even if Sonny Corinthos managed to locate them, there would be no way he'd be able to take out an entire navy tanker.

In his opinion, the design was seamless, and he couldn't wait to tell the two people it was proposed to accommodate. While Houston had declined accompanying him to Morgan and Miss Webber's room, he wanted to see their faces when he gave them the good news. Sure, he could have called over on the phone, but the reaction just wouldn't have been the same.

Knocking twice, briskly, the balding man practically rocked on the balls of his feet. It had been a long time since he had been this excited, especially about work. After so long in the bureau, he knew that he had become somewhat jaded towards his job, simply putting in his time until he could retire with his full, well-earned pension, but there was just something different about the Corinthos case, something different about Elizabeth and Jason, and, despite the fact that he knew better than to make his work personal, he had done so anyway, and it had made the long hours, and the sacrifices, and his wife's disappointments when he had to cancel on her suddenly worth it.

After nearly a minute of waiting, he knocked again, this time louder. While the motel rooms might be better inside than they appeared on the outside, they certainly weren't a suite at the Ritz, so he was a little unnerved by the fact that it was taking Jason and Elizabeth so long in answering the door. Although there were things that might have been keeping them busy, he really didn't want to contemplate such thoughts. After all, while he might support the idea of the former enforcer dating the twenty-three year old, actually thinking about how the brunette beauty had ended up pregnant wasn't exactly on his list of favorite things to do.

Changing his simple knocking to pounding, Bill called out, "alright, you two. Enough's enough. Just answer the door, will 'ya? It's freezing out here, and Miss Webber's already expecting. I really don't see why you must insist upon doing… that… at the same exact time that I need to talk to you." Pleading slightly and realizing it, the agent added, "come on, I swear. It's good news this time."

But, still, the door never opened for him. "Alright, that's it," he warned, digging in his pants pocket for the key that would let him into the couple's motel room. "I hope the two of you are covered, because I'm coming in whether you are or not."

Just in case, though, he shielded his eyes, narrowing them to the point where they were practically just slits. After hearing the tumblers in the lock turn, he pushed the door open, surprised to find the motel room dark and undisturbed. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he grumbled, ambling his way towards the closed bathroom door. "They're showering together? And if they dare say that it was just in an effort to save water, while I'll…"

But the closer he got to the bathroom, the quieter the room seemed to get, and he realized that Jason and Elizabeth weren't doing any such thing. There was no light coming from underneath the en suite's door either. "Well," he mumbled to himself, reaching for the knob. "Maybe they're taking a bath instead… in the dark."

Even while he tried to tell himself that, though, Agent Maloney knew the idea to be false. The bathroom was dark because there was no one in it, and, because there was no one in it, that meant that Jason and Elizabeth had somehow managed to find a way to sneak off. While he had been busting his tail trying to brainstorm up a way to keep them together, they had broken his trust and ran away, leaving him to pick and clean up the mess. His partner would only say 'I told you so,' of course being of absolutely no help, and, at that point, with his two star witnesses missing, he could pretty much kiss his case against Sonny Corinthos goodbye, and who knew what such a blow to his record would do to his career.

Needing to see for himself, though, that he was right and that both Morgan and Webber were gone, he entered the bathroom, swearing under his breath when he discovered the empty sight he had been expecting, "son of a bitch."

Slumping against the entranceway, his eyes automatically searched out the motel room only to land upon a folded piece of paper situated advantageously on the bed, no doubt put there so that, if someone were to look, they would easily find it. Crossing the few feet that separated his spot from the note, Bill picked up the flimsy stationary, noticing that it was that which was provided by the roadside motel.

Opening it, he read out loud, "Since you couldn't protect them, I'm taking Elizabeth and the baby somewhere that they'll be safe. Don't bother looking for us, because you'll just be wasting your time. Thanks for trying to help, but I knew better than to depend upon someone else to take care of my problems. It's time I handled Sonny my way. It's the only way I'll be able to keep my family safe." Closing the missive, it was simply signed, "Jason."

Crumbling up the paper, the balding man shoved it deep into his pocket, already stomping his way out of the motel room. After slamming the door behind him, he turned to head back to his own rented room, pissed off and worried all at the same time. "Son of a bitch," he swore again, kicking at the snow dampened brick wall. "Son of a fucking bitch."

**LVII.**

There had been three things that her husband had forced her to memorize before they had parted ways a week before, and, yes, Jason was technically and legally now her husband.

They had managed to get married while escaping from FBI custody. While it had not been the most romantic of weddings, Jason's proposal at Christmas had more than made up for the rushed but no less desired nuptials, and she had simply been impressed by all that he had managed do in such a short time frame. Besides, seeing as how neither of them knew when the next time would be that they would be able to set foot on US soil, if they were going to be ever be married legally as Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber, the impromptu ceremony had been necessary.

After knocking out one of the plain clothed cops at nearly two a.m. when the man had been doing his rounds, checking up on both them and the motel's security, Jason had carried the man's body to his unmarked car, taped his mouth shut, tied his hands and feet together, and dumped him in the trunk. Using the man's government issued cell phone, they had called and gotten two tickets out of the country under their alias' names, driving like a bat out of hell to the nearest airport to make the fight. Once they were there and waiting in the terminal, Jason had used the phone to make another phone call, one that was of a much more secretive nature.

Although she now knew who he had been in contact with, at the time, she had been in the dark, but that hadn't bothered the onetime artist. She trusted the man she loved implicitly, and her faith in him had been rewarded when, just before their plane was to take off, a judge had arrived to marry them. The ceremony had taken less than five minutes, they then signed the marriage license Jason had been carrying around with him for weeks, and, as they boarded, the judge went back to his office to file the necessary paperwork to officially make her Mrs. Jason Morgan.

She had been so happy with the surprise turn of events that she hadn't even noticed that the court official had not questioned the fact that they were marrying under different names than their flight seats were booked under. But, now, looking back, she realized that the judge had been in the man's pocket who was currently hosting her at one of his many foreign villas, not that the stranger was actually there with her.

Besides a few staff members to help her keep up with the expansive home and ground's upkeep, she was alone, quietly planning for the eventual arrival of her son or daughter. Her days stretched by slowly with the help of cleaning, receiving cooking lessons from the estate's chef, and decorating the bedroom that had been designated as her child's future nursery. Whether or not she and Jason would actually be living there still when their baby was born, Elizabeth didn't know, but she wasn't worried.

No matter what, her husband would be by her side when their child entered the world, and that was all that mattered to her besides making sure that the life growing inside of her was healthy, happy, and strong. And, while it saddened her that the former hitman was missing some of the early months of her pregnancy, she understood that such a sacrifice was necessary on both of their parts if it meant that they would never have to be separated or in danger again.

Switching the basket she had brought with her into town that morning as she went to market to pick up some fresh produce for lunch and dinner to her other arm, the college graduate went over once more the three things that Jason had practically ingrained in her mind. First, there was _Necesito para utilizar el cuarto de baño, por favor_. This, asking politely to use the bathroom, had already come in handy with the locals. While she might have only been in her first trimester, Elizabeth was amazed by how rapidly her body was already changing with her pregnancy, and what was even more amazing was how often she now had to go to the bathroom. If she wasn't so thrilled with the idea of having a baby, she probably would have been annoyed with the inconvenience.

Secondly, just to be on the safe side, her husband had taught her how to say that she was pregnant and in need in a doctor, but the former painter sincerely hoped that the words _'Ayuda. Soy embarazado, y necesito a doctor'_ never had to pass by her lips. Lastly and most importantly, he had drilled into her mind the expression 'Soy una amiga de Señor Lorenzo Alcazar.' Where she was staying, at one of Lorenzo's homes in Caracas, Venezuela, his name was the most feared, most respected two words that could be uttered, and no one would approach her much less deign to actually insult or injure her unless they wanted to face the wrath of the most influential crime lord in South America.

The room she had chosen for the baby's room was actually the one meant to be the master bedroom, but it overlooked the pool and gardens, and the idea of what a mural would look like with all the rich, golden light spilling in on it from the wide open windows was too much for her to resist, so she had the gardener help her move her own things into a smaller bedroom, satisfied with amenities provided there within. To thank the somewhat shy yet always helpful man, she had baked him brownies, and, suddenly, he was always asking her if she needed help.

All of the staff members were friendly, inquiring about her needs and the baby's, seeking to make her as comfortable as possible, and she got the impression that they were just glad to have someone to finally take care of. Before she had moved into the pastel pink, stucco house, she had been informed that it had been vacant for quite some time. With so many properties, most of which were much more prestigious than the one she currently inhabited, Lorenzo very rarely stayed in the relatively small, Caracas home. Sometimes his men would sleep a night or two there, but that was all the company the cook, the gardener, and the cleaning lady typically received besides each other, and Elizabeth could tell that they were lonely. Plus, she didn't doubt the fact that it was much more relaxing to take care of her than it was to cater after a formidable gangster, even if they would speak fluent Spanish as opposed to her butchered version of the foreign language.

Really, her only complaint about living in Venezuela was the fact that Jason was not with her, and, while she missed the ladies of the garden club back in Dovetree, she tried to focus on the positive and forget about the things that she couldn't change. Somehow, her husband had promised her that they would find a way to contact Evelyn once they were all safe and Sonny had been dealt with permanently. Though they'd never be in the elderly woman's life again, the former hitman seemed to sense her need to communicate with her older friend the fact that she was still very much alive, quite happy, and expecting their first child, and his promise to her was enough.

Besides, with most days, by the time she fell asleep at night, she was just too exhausted to worry about anything. Between working on the nursery, learning how to cook, and continuing to re-explore her own artwork, the house's study serving as her new studio, Elizabeth drifted off into slumber with little to no fight every night. It didn't hurt matters either that the cook insisted upon her eating so many large meals.

Every morning, she and the three permanent staff members would sit down and eat a gargantuan breakfast, despite the Spanish customs. Instead of just a cup of hot chocolate, seeing as how she couldn't drink coffee as was typical, and some kind of pastry, it was suggested and then insisted upon that she eat at least one magdalena, something that the twenty-three year old would describe as a lemon flavored cupcake, several churros which tasted like lightly fried donuts flavored with either sugar or honey, and at least two helpings of torrija, which was Spanish bread pudding topped with sugar and cinnamon or rich honey. Plus, there'd be a wide assortment of mild, soft cheeses, ham, and toast with butter. However, she didn't complain much, because the food was new and delicious, and she liked making the cook happy by eating it all. Plus, the baby seemed to like it, too.

Then, at noon, on the dot, all four of them would break from whatever they were doing to have a snack before lunch. Raul, the gardener, would have a few bottles of beer, Teresa, the maid, and Marie-Carmen, the cook, would drink wine, and she would have juice, and they all would all eat tapas or, as she liked to call them, funny looking yet tasty finger foods. However, the biggest meal of the day was, by far, lunch, and it amazed Elizabeth that, after just a week in Venezuela, her stomach had already stretched to accommodate eating so much food.

No matter what, no matter how busy everyone was, lunch in Marie-Carmen's kitchen always consisted of soup and or pasta dish, salad, a meat and or fish dish, and then dessert. Apparently, though, it didn't matter whether she was cooking or an actual chef was, because dessert was still Elizabeth's favorite part of the meal. While she enjoyed the traditional flan, she preferred the homemade sorbet that the cook made, and, seeing how much she enjoyed the treat, Marie-Carmen served it almost every day. For drink, because of the baby, she was forced to drink both a tall glass of milk and a tall glass of water with her lunch, but she didn't argue. Instead, she focused on the dessert.

After lunch, everyone always returned to their tasks, and she was no different. Typically, the afternoon was her time to work on the nursery and paint in her studio, but Marie-Carmen never failed to interrupt her at exactly 4:30 for a snack or, as the native called it, la merienda_, _not that she complained. After all, the cook always brought her pieces of chocolate along with bread with chorizo, ham, or salami on top, and Elizabeth never turned down chocolate, especially since her new friend seemed to sense that she was currently craving the white variations of the classic candy. Following her snack, she would go back to work, and Marie-Carmen would return to the kitchen to prepare dinner which they would traditionally eat at nine every evening.

Dinner at the house in Caracas was less formal than lunch but still just as delicious. They would have some kind of meat served with either fried potatoes or rice, a green salad or some kind of vegetable dish, and, for a lighter dessert, Marie-Carmen would serve the fresh fruit that Elizabeth picked up every morning at the market. But that was certainly not the last time that she ate all day. Rather, right before she went to bed every evening, Marie-Carmen would bring her a fresh churro and another mug of hot chocolate, the perfect thing to sooth and calm the younger woman after a hectic not to mention full day.

At just the thought of the chef's delicious food, Elizabeth's stomach started to grumble, and she laughed, reaching her free hand down to rub against her still flat abdomen. "You cannot be hungry already, baby," she teased the child growing in her womb. "We just had breakfast, and it's still several hours before tapas." But her stomach just growled some more, and she giggled again when she looked inside her basket underneath the towel Marie-Carmen always sent along for her to cover the fresh fruit she purchased daily and found several apples and a few pieces of rich, imported chocolate. "I am going to eat Señor Alcazar out of house and home," she confided to her unborn child, knowing full well that such a thing for a man of Lorenzo's wealth would be impossible.

Choosing a ripe, crimson piece of fruit, she bit into the juicy treat as she approached her first of many market stands. Although she typically only purchased food, that didn't stop Elizabeth from perusing the other goods sold on the city's bustling square. She enjoyed the energy of the lively businesses and relished in the vivacity and vigor of the market. It was so unlike anything she had previous experienced in her life back in the states, but she loved it nonetheless.

"Buena mañana, Señora Morgan," one of the venders greeted her. The woman was a usual at the market, and, since she had started coming into town every morning, she had started to stop and talk with the elderly lady. Luckily for Elizabeth, the woman she knew as Ernesta spoke English. "And how are you and the little one doing today?"

"Very well, thank-you," she responded, genuinely happy to be talking to the local. "But hungry," she added as an afterthought. "Always hungry."

"So, when are you going to bring your husband to market with you?"

"Soon," Elizabeth answered, hoping she was telling the truth. "Soon."

**LVIII.**

"I want you to know that I appreciate you doing this for me. You had no reason to help me, but, when I contacted you two weeks ago, you immediately went into action. I'll never forget that."

"Please, Mr. Morgan," Lorenzo contended. "Arguably, it is I who is actually benefiting more from this arrangement the two of us have worked out. All I have done for you is provide your wife with a safe place to live, agreed to take care of your dirty work for you, and have promised to help you, your wife, and your unborn child fake your deaths. In return, I'm doubling my empire and holdings. A man of my power and place in the world would do just about anything to close that kind of deal. My only question is whether or not you have any rules for how I am to go about accomplishing what we both want."

Shaking his head to refute the Spaniard's query, Jason honestly answered, "I don't care what you do to Sonny Corinthos. Just make sure that it's permanent and that he can never come after Elizabeth or our child again."

"While I can't say that I understand your willingness to just give all this up." To emphasize his point, the older man swept his arms outward to embrace the wide, panoramic view they were taking in of the Port Charles skyline. "I do admire your dedication to your family."

"It has nothing to do with loyalty, Mr. Alcazar. I love my wife and our unborn child, and, selfishly, I want out of this life so that I actually have the chance to watch my son or daughter grow up and to spend the rest of my days with the woman I married." Walking away from the balcony, he strode further into the plush hotel room. "When I first went to work for Sonny, I didn't understand the consequences of my actions. Even when I was laying face down in the snow after he sent someone I believed to be my friend after me with a gunshot wound throbbing in my side, I still didn't realize what I had gotten myself into. It wasn't until I heard of a little boy's death, a little boy that I had raised as my own son for more than a year, that I realized that I wanted out. For good.

"Do I like the danger; do I like the adrenaline rush that comes from living on the edge and thinking on my feet?" Shrugging his shoulders, Jason answered truthfully. "Yeah, I do, but not enough to die for the excitement. And I know that watching my son or daughter be born will be more exhilarating than any ambush could ever be, and celebrating my fiftieth wedding anniversary with Elizabeth will be more rewarding than gaining a new piece of territory or taking down a rival mobster. Maybe I'm not saying this the right way, or maybe you just don't understand, but…"

"No, you're wrong," the Venezuelan arms smuggler interjected, stopping Jason's words. "I understand. In fact, many years ago, I attempted to do what you're doing right now, but I couldn't get out. When you're born into this lifestyle, escaping it is much more complicated. Plus, looking back now, I'm not sure if I actually wanted to get out or if I was just doing so because I thought it was the right thing to do. Either way," the older man sighed, glancing over his shoulders at the ex-enforcer, "for your sake and that of your family's, I'm glad that you're doing this, Jason."

"Thank you."

"And, now, back to business," the dark haired man suggested, reaching into the breast pocket of his expensive, Italian suit only to pull out an imported cigar, lighting it before he continued speaking. "Do you have any preferences as to what should happen to Sonny's men?"

"Honestly, I think that's your decision to make, but, if I were you," the soon-to-be father recommended, "I'd allow some of the guys to be folded into your organization. Even when I was still working for Sonny, not all of them liked the way he ran things. There was definitely some contention among the ranks, and I would only assume that it has gotten worse since I've been gone. Weed out the ones that are too loyal to Sonny, send them to prison or get rid of them however you see fit, but keep the ones that can be useful and loyal to you alive. At least, that's what I would do."

"I'll consider what you have to say, Mr. Morgan."

"And, now, I have a few questions of my own," the blonde stated.

"Certainly," Lorenzo allowed.

"I'd like to know what you have planned to fake our deaths?"

"Oh, it's all quite simple really. We'll leak information to the feds, telling them that Elizabeth has been staying in one of my homes in Caracas hours before we blow it up. Of course, by then we'll have you, your wife, and your unborn child moved somewhere else, and the two of you can go about building a new life for yourselves. As far as the rest of the world will be concerned, Jason and Elizabeth Morgan and child will all be dead, and I will arrange it so that it'll look like Sonny caught up to you and took you all out right before he himself perishes. At that point, I'll help you procure new identities, and, per our agreement, under those names, the two of you will be set up for life quite handsomely, nowhere near a fair price for what your share of Corinthos' empire would be worth but, still, plenty for you to support your family for several generations to come."

"You know I really don't care about the money."

"Yes, I do," Alcazar commented, frowning slightly. "And, for that, I think you're a fool. If it were just you, I wouldn't fight you on the issue, but it's not, and there's no reason why you or your wife should have to worry about finding jobs right away or, really, ever having to work. After everything the two of you have been through, travel, see the world, just enjoy life together and with your child… or, eventually, children. Besides, it's not as if you technically didn't earn this money yourself by working for Sonny before the feds froze your accounts. Don't be so stubborn, Mr. Morgan," the older man chastised good-naturedly. "It'll age you prematurely, and then that pretty wife of yours will want to find herself a new, less-wrinkled husband."

He knew the foreigner was teasing him, but Jason couldn't help but protest. "I don't think so. That'll never happen."

"See that it doesn't, Mr. Morgan. While I might not have spent much time with your wife, that which I did told me that she is one of those women that a man should hold onto no matter what. Now, if you'll excuse me," the native Venezuelan made his formal pleasantries. "It's late, I have a busy day ahead of me, and you have a long flight back to Caracas." Holding his hand out after snubbing out his cigar, Lorenzo said, "it's been a pleasure doing business with you, Jason."

The blonde simply nodded. It was his way to say that he agreed, although he wasn't sure that he would necessarily call their dealings pleasant. "Goodbye."

And, as he walked out the door of Alcazar's penthouse, he knew it was the last time he would ever see the mobster, and, for that, he was thankful. Soon, very soon, he, Elizabeth, and their unborn baby would be free and, more importantly, safe, and he couldn't wait to share the good news with his wife.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Well, here you have – the final chapter to this story that should have been finished months ago. :P Looking at the bright side, you didn't have to say goodbye to it as soon as you should have, right? Before we get to the chapter, I just want to thank everyone, not only for your patience with this fic but also for your kind words of encouragement and praise. Through every step of the way, your comments have been helping me to make this story a better one, and a writer can't ask for a better gift from her readers. Also, just to warn you, this final part is somewhat shorter than the others, but, as it ends, it also shows just how life will continue. We just won't be witnessing it anymore. You'll meet a new character, one that should be familiar to all of you, and you'll say goodbye to another whose death has been imminent since the very first post. As for name explanations, I'll add another note at the very end of the post, so make sure you check that out as well. I just didn't want to spoil anything before you got to read the update. Once again, thanks, everyone, and enjoy!_

_~Charlynn~_

**Part Seventeen**

**XLIV.**

It had taken them seven months – _seven months _– to finally locate Jason and Elizabeth Morgan, but they had… and not a moment too soon either. For Bill Maloney, the day almost seemed fated. Back in Port Charles at that very hour, Sonny Corinthos' trial was starting, and, a continent away, he was finally closing in on his two most important witnesses. The trial had been stalled to get them to this point. However, he felt that such an action was the lesser of two evils. Sure, Corinthos had remained in power, free to reign down his own brand of justice and control for far longer than anyone would have liked, but, by waiting, by being patient, they were going to ensure the kingpin's conviction.

It had been an anonymous tip that had sent them to Caracas. After several wild goose chases, immediately, he had known that they were finally headed in the right direction. Once they arrived in the Venezuelan capital, Jason and Elizabeth had been easy to find. They were popular with their neighbors, a daily staple at the local market. Everyone described them as _the cute, very much in love, expecting American couple_, and, despite his hurt feelings towards the two, Bill could admit that the depiction fit.

So, here he was, a few hours after their plane had touched down in the South American city, walking into the home that the ex-enforcer and his wife had occupied for seven months. Despite protests, he had finally convinced the others, Houston and a few rookies, to remain outside, to let him handle the MIA couple. After all, convincing Jason and Elizabeth to go back to the states and testify would be no easy feat.

They had fled FBI custody because they didn't trust the government to keep them safe from their enemy, and, looking back, the agent realized their fears had been justified. Although he still believed that his plan all those months ago would have worked, Morgan had simply done what any husband and father would do: everything within his power to keep his family safe. Yes, Bill had taken some hits on his record, and he had received a harsh tongue lashing from his superiors, but facing the wrath of his bosses was nothing in comparison to running from an internationally known crime lord in order to remain alive.

In short, the whole situation had been undesirable, and all parties involved had simply done what they felt was necessary in order to receive the very best possible outcome.

Striding up the front walk, Bill approached the front door of the pink stucco villa. However, this time, unlike back in the states, he didn't knock. Whether he feared such a greeting would alert and scare away his intended witnesses or whether he just wanted an uncompromised view into Jason and Elizabeth's new lives, he wasn't sure. Such warring parts of his psyche – the sentimental and the professional – were not something he was used to.

He realized that the home was cool inside once he closed the front door behind him, dim yet not depressing or gloomy. The tall, uninhibited trees and shrubs that grew around the Caracas estate provided plenty of shade and kept the unforgiving South American sun from baking the small abode. Room by room, he wandered, observing his surroundings. Although everything was neat and perfectly orderly, there was no doubt in his mind that the house was very much lived in. Small touches here and there that told of the inhabitants personalities stuck out like sore thumbs from the otherwise traditional design and decoration.

Along the front entryway, there were at least ten different pairs of flip-flops, all in various hues, lined up against the east wall and, beside those sandals, stood one lone, proud pair of motorcycle boots. Keys to a Harley were tossed carelessly on a side table in the hall, a woman's helmet hanging on what was supposed to be a hat rack. In the living room, he found an open travel guide, carelessly set aside as if, just minutes ago, someone had been reading the book only to get up and leave the room. The dining room had fresh flowers on the table, obviously picked from the garden just steps away through a set of French doors, and the study was set up as a makeshift studio, several pieces of easily recognizable artwork leaned up against a creamy, eggshell white wall to dry, their bright splashes of color a startling contrast to the otherwise crisp and clean room. The kitchen had baby bottles and liners arranged on the countertop, evidently in preparation for the big day that was sure to come now at anytime, and the family room was completely filled with various infant paraphernalia – a bassinet, a swing, enough stuffed animals to fill a small car, and even a pacifier carelessly tossed on top of the fireplace mantel.

Traveling upstairs, Bill moved from one bedroom to another. First was the guest room, but, instead of a bed, he found a folded up futon and then some exercise equipment. A punching bag, a weight bench, and an inclined bench, three simple pieces but, apparently, the only things Jason Morgan needed to stay in shape. The second bedroom he came upon was dominated by an extremely large bed. Books were stacked up next to the gigantic piece of furniture, and the covers were still tossed back, telling him that the inhabitants didn't worry about such menial tasks as making the bed every morning. Despite the fact that it wasn't the master suite, he knew that the second bedroom was where the married couple slept together.

Finally, at the end of the hall after bypassing several bathrooms, he encountered the baby's nursery. It was bright and cheerful. A hand painted mural dominated an entire wall, and the room looked as though it was merely frozen in time, waiting patiently for its owner to come home for the first time and claim it. And, as he stood in the middle of the large room, he realized that such an event would never happen, that Jason and Elizabeth had made a home for themselves in Caracas only to leave the capital city at the very last minute. Whether the past seven months were merely a ruse to fool both him and their enemies, he wasn't sure, but he did know that they weren't coming back.

As he was slowly making his way back down the stairs, the pieces of the intricate puzzle started to come together for him. It was a trap, all of it, not meant for him but for Sonny. As soon as the thought ricocheted through his mind, he took off, sprinting for the front door. Just as he cleared it, he started yelling for his men, telling them to get off of the property, to seek cover at least fifty yards from the estate. Whether they listened or not, he wasn't sure; that was something he would have to determine afterwards. All he could do in that moment was warn them and run like hell.

His foot had just touched the asphalt of the paved road outside of the villa when he felt a surge of heat blow past him, knocking him to the ground and rendering him unconscious.

**XLV.**

Sonny Corinthos was an arrogant man. He knew this, his employees knew this, and his enemies knew this as well, but, his arrogance, it was said, worked for him. It gave him an air, a sense of being untouchable, and, despite the fact that no one was untouchable in their business, he had managed to survive decades in the mob with little more than a scratch here and there.

So, that's why, as he walked up the steps of the Port Charles' courthouse, he felt invincible. It didn't matter that the FBI had a laundry list of crimes stacked against him. He knew that, without his former enforcer and the little waif he had taken in years before, the government had no case. And the FBI knew this, too. The entire trial was a sham, a demonstration for the public to prove to them that the nation's law enforcement did not take underworld crime lightly. They'd strut, and postulate, and, when the verdict came down that he, Michael Corinthos Jr. was a free man, they'd rail against the injustices of their own system and swear to fight the good battle again the next day, but, in the end, he'd be free and clear, and the Bureau would have egg in their faces once more.

He smiled then, the thought of his law-abiding enemies looking like fools bringing out his famous dimples, and, as soon as the snide grin spread across his face, flashbulbs erupted. Pausing to give the media the show they so desired, Sonny waited for the photographers to get their fill. He waved, he smirked, and he made a show of shaking his top associates' hands as though they were about to head into a lunch date and not a court trial. The reporters ate it up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his lawyer shake her head in abject disapproval and annoyance. The woman was a good attorney, but she just didn't get the public aspect of his business. While, obviously, the people of Port Charles were never going to openly admit to liking him, there was a fine line that Sonny liked to straddle between being the lovable rogue and the evil kingpin. He liked to keep the public confused, on their toes, unsure of what to think about him. Was he a scourge upon their town or an archangel, forced to use underhanded tactics to defend his fellow man? Was he just a misunderstood businessman or a finely oiled, destructive killing machine? It was that very contrast which kept him on all the guest lists for all the best parties, and it was that disparity that kept all the women, both saintly and sinister, panting after him. Yes, he had Carly at home, but he was Sonny Corinthos, and one woman just wasn't enough for him.

Arriving at the top of the courthouse steps, he reached into his suit's lapel and removed a fine, top quality cigar, knowing, without a doubt, that someone nearby would light it for him. After all, in his position, he didn't need to worry about taking care of the mundane for himself; he had people who saw to those things for him. And, sure enough, his second in command, Johnny O'Brien, held a personalized, one a kind Zippo lighter to his cigar, catching the ends of the delicately rolled tobacco leafs ablaze when he puffed on the stogie. While his trial was set to start at any minute, he was determined that he would not operate under anyone else's timetable; they would all dance to his watch and his whims.

However, he never did get to relish that cigar. After just one inhalation, he felt himself being pushed to the ground as gunfire erupted around them. Listlessly, the imported luxury slipped from his fingers and rolled several feet away, eventually its ruby embers burning out.

He laughed then, realizing just how symbolic the inconsequential event was. No one else around him would remember or even notice the cigar, but, as he more or less sensed all of his top men perishing, their feeble attempt to fire back in retaliation useless against such a strong offensive, he chuckled at the obviousness of the moment. He was still laughing, in fact, when a man, his face shrouded with a dark sky mask, came to stand over top of him, his chest and body protected with bullet proof armor. The gunman fired a single round into his midsection, the metallic fire of the wound rocketing through the mob boss immediately.

"Mr. Morgan," the faceless, nameless attacker shared, leveling his semi-automatic handgun with Sonny's forehead, "sends his regards."

And, with that, a final shot was fired, ending Michael Corinthos, Jr.'s life.

**XLVI.**

From afar, Lorenzo watched the unsuspecting widow of his latest and most easily handled enemy.

Carly Corinthos was a beautiful woman. Already, he was stepping into the other mobster's life. He was taking over his business, his shipping routes, his home, and the Venezuelan arms dealer knew that, if he allowed himself, it would be easy for him to care about the pretty young blonde sitting before him.

He and his men had been watching Corinthos long enough to know that being married to Caroline Roberts was not a simple task. She was demanding, and moody, and probably certifiably insane, but she was also passionate, and fiery, and had a temper to match both of those traits. And, despite her faults, she was also a good mother. The daughter that she and Sonny shared together, a beautiful toddler named Adela Michelle, was bright and giving, full of life, and a perfect physical combination of both her parents, and it was obvious that Carly Corinthos had transferred all of her former love for her deceased son onto her daughter, showering the little girl with both attention and possessions.

But Lorenzo was too pragmatic to ever really entertain the idea of a family. From his own childhood, he knew that children and wives did not belong in his lifestyle, so, despite his attraction to the lovely blonde and despite the fact that he knew the new widow could easily shift her feelings for her former husband onto him, he dismissed the idea as quickly as it came to him. Rather, he had decided to approach the now single mother in the park in order to pass along a message to her, and, once his promise was fulfilled, he would slip back into the shadows, never to see the lovely Caroline again.

Rapidly walking towards her, Lorenzo smirked when he noticed the blonde's guards take several steps back. Without an oblivious Sonny's knowledge, he had infiltrated his organization months prior, weeding through the Cuban's men in order to determine those who could be swayed to join his mission and those who could not be. Carly and her young daughter's guards were just two of many men now seamlessly under his employ.

"Mrs. Corinthos," he greeted her, his tanned face spreading easily into an affable smile. "May I join you," Lorenzo asked, already taking a seat beside the mother without waiting for her permission or approval.

Slightly indignant yet, at the same time, not entirely rude, Carly Corinthos turned towards him, her light, fall jacket parting to reveal her swollen abdomen. "Who are you," she wanted to know.

"My identity, at this point, is immaterial," the weapons smuggler informed her breezily. "Soon, you and everyone else in this town will know who I am, but, for right now, that's not important." When she went to protest, he pushed on. "I have a message to pass on to you… from a Mr. Morgan."

He almost laughed when he saw the light explode within the blonde's gaze, for, apparently, Mrs. Corinthos was still very much obsessed with her deceased husband's ex-partner, not that she knew of Sonny's death. Yet.

"How do you know Jason? I thought he was…"

"Dead," the Venezuelan supplied, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I imagine that's what you were led to believe. Actually, up until this morning, Jason, his wife, and their unborn child were all very much still alive. However, I have it under good authority that this is no longer the case." He could see that the woman wanted to know more, that she had several questions for him, but, quite frankly, he wasn't in the mood to put up with some maudlin display of grief or a tempestuous, jealous diatribe. "I made his acquaintance quite some time ago, and he asked me, once he realized that I would eventually be relocating to Port Charles to let you know a few things."

Carly jumped upon his words, leaning forward to clasp his arm desperately. "What did he say?"

"He said to tell you that he will always love Michael even if your son is no longer alive, that he will always be grateful that you were once in his life, because you gave him a son, and that, if ever a situation came up where you needed help, where you found yourself alone, desperate, and about to do something crazy, to go to the Quartermaines."

The blonde immediately dismissed the idea, sitting back against the bench. "Jason wouldn't say that. He hates his family, and he knows… or knew that they would never help me. I don't know who you are, but I want you to leave."

"I am," Lorenzo assured her, already standing up. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, he prepared to depart with one final word. "Just a little piece of advice from me to you, Mrs. Corinthos: don't be so proud. Things may not actually be as they seem, and you would be ill advised to dismiss what Mr. Morgan had to say." Turning around, he started walking away from the young mother, only pausing long enough to throw back over his shoulder, "oh, and, if you want to find out what happened to Mr. Morgan, I suggest you scurry home and catch the news." Glancing at his watch, he commented, "it should be hitting the major media markets in less than a half an hour."

Several minutes later, as he folded himself neatly into the back of his chauffeured limousine, he calmly, rationally instructed his driver who also doubled as his personal guard. "Take me to my new home, please, Francis." The man was another new recruit from Sonny's former organization. "I have a sudden urge to see Harbor View Towers."

**XLVII.**

Despite the fact that two of her favorite patients were leaving that morning, Nurse Nadine Crowell could not turn away from the television. Usually, she worked up on the maternity floor, but she was single and lonely, living in a new town far from where she grew up as a child, and she would pick up extra shifts around the hospital, filling in for anyone who might need a helping hand. On that particular day, she was working a half shift in the records department, but it was slow, and she had plenty of time to absorb the news being broadcast before her.

Halfheartedly, she handed the appropriate discharge papers to the husband of the new, young mother. Beside him, his wife was holding their infant daughter as she sat contentedly in a wheelchair, waiting to be released. "Sign here and here," she instructed the handsome man, although she was not quite sure her index finger actually pointed to the right signature lines. It didn't really matter, though, for anyone could figure it out for themselves. And, luckily, he didn't seem bothered at all by her apparent distraction, his own eyes occasionally straying to the television as well.

A breaking news report had interrupted her favorite morning talk show. Typically, Nadine would mute such annoying breaks in programming, but the Corinthos/Morgan/Webber story had been intriguing her for months. Before her, badly bruised and obviously weighed down by the weight of the world, an FBI agent was giving a quick briefing to the media. His arm was in a sling, he had a visible cut along his receding hairline, and his once average suit was now ripped and stained with dust and debris.

_"In light of this morning's events, I feel it is safe to reveal that fugitives Jason and Elizabeth Morgan, as well as their unborn child, are presumed dead. Key witnesses in the Sonny Corinthos' racketeering case, they disappeared from FBI custody approximately seven months priors only to resurface on our radar a few days ago, here in Caracas. However, when we arrived at the location you see behind me, the villa exploded, and all those inside are currently in the process of being pronounced dead. Sadly, minutes before he himself was gunned down on the Port Charles' Court House steps, Michael Corinthos Jr. took three final lives. As soon as the necessary paperwork has been filed, this case will be closed. Thank you."_

With that, Agent Bill Maloney stepped down off the hastily erected podium, disappearing from the numerous cameras' range. He never asked for questions, he never offered any more details, and, caught off guard by his abrupt statement, the various media officials instantly went back to the studios where the anchors began to reiterate what would surely prove to be the story of the day, maybe even the week. Pictures of the deceased, Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber-Morgan flashed up on the television screen, and Nadine hastily wiped a single, solitary tear away as she mourned for the loss of innocent lives. While she didn't know much about the ex-hitman, his wife and unborn child didn't deserve to die, and it saddened her that they were gone from this world.

Distracting her, Elise McQuade spoke up from behind the emotional nurse, causing the blonde to turn around. Immediately, she smiled at the petite brunette. The woman, though still recovering from the recent birth of her daughter, was glowing. Her short cropped, poker straight hair had, at one time, probably been a chestnut brown, but countless days spent in the sun had lightened it to almost a sandy blonde, and her eyes were a rich, delicious chocolate shade. Just the sight of them made Nadine hungry for a candy bar.

"You know, Jake," the young mother teased her husband. "That man on the TV, he kind of looked like you."

Swiveling her gaze towards the man in question, the maternity nurse observed the father closely. He had long, dark hair that fell to his chin which that he was constantly pushing back away from his face, light green eyes, and enough stubble on his face for her to guess that he was attempting to grow a beard. His clothes were simple – khaki shorts and a loose, button down top with sandals. In her opinion, he looked nothing like Jason Morgan. "Elise," she teased the soon-to-be-leaving patient. "I think that epidural still hasn't worn off yet."

The new mother giggled, shrugged, and then admitted, "yeah, maybe you're right, Nurse Crowell."

"None of that," she instantly chastised. "I told you to call me by my first name."

"Well, in that case, Nadine," the wife prompted, "I have a favor to ask of you?"

"Sure, anything."

"Would you mind mailing these," the young mother asked, handing her several already addressed letters ready to be sent out. "I want them to go out today, but we really don't want to wait for the mailman. Plus, we're new in town, and we really don't know the area, so…"

"Don't say another word," the blonde easily ordered. "It'd be my pleasure." Eyeing the envelopes curiously, she asked, "what are they anyway?"

"Oh, just some birth announcements, telling a few old friends about little Aveline Rose here." With that, the proud young woman snuggled her tiny, sleeping daughter.

"We just told them the basics, you know," Jake filled in for his easily distracted wife, smiling in both his girls' direction. "That she weighed six pounds, fifteen ounces, that she was 20 ¼ inches long, that she has a lot of dark, curly hair, pale, blue eyes, and her mother's fair skin."

"And, of course," Nadine added, grinning in understanding, "that all three of you are doing well, perfectly healthy, and as happy as can be."

"Of course," Elise and her husband agreed at the same time.

"You know, it is weird though," the young nurse offered, chuckling. "That baby looks nothing like the two of you. Genetics, right," she joked, rolling her eyes. "They're so unpredictable."

With that, the new family said their goodbyes before leaving, and she watched them from her window as they moved away the hospital, Jake pushing his wife and child to their awaiting vehicle. Once they were out of sight, she sighed dreamily, hoping one day her life could be just as simple and yet beautiful as the McQuade's.

_A/N2: Obviously, with Jason and Elizabeth's name, I kept their initials the same, just as I did with Jack and Ellis, simply so things would be easier for them. Personally speaking, it would be easier for me to adjust to a name change if my new one sounded at least somewhat familiar to my original name. So, that gives us Elise and Jake. Also, with Jake, I think we all know the correlation there. For their last name, just like with Morgan and Martin, it starts with the first letter 'M,' but it also as a 'Q' in it, reminiscent of the Quartermaines. For their daughter's name, Aveline is actually the root name for Evelyn, so, in their own way, Jason and Elizabeth named their little girl after one of the biddies from Dovetree. Her middle name Rose is a reference/reminder of Lila and her rose garden. Plus, I just liked how the two names worked and sounded together. I hope you did as well. :)_

_~Charlynn~_


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